


Agents Of HERO

by BairnSidhe



Series: Bodies-verse [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Author is Not a Lawyer, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Claire Temple Deserves Better, Darcy's People Know All, Families of Choice, Gen, Impaired Mental States, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Matt Murdock Is Not Here For Your Bullshit, May Speaks Eyebrow, Minor Character Death, Networks, Pain, Past Child Abuse, Reunions, Sequel/Side Story, Stick is a dick, They mostly get better but some do not, Vague yet Menacing Government Agencies, Violence, discussion of child soldiers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-10-02 08:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 77,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BairnSidhe/pseuds/BairnSidhe
Summary: When trouble is on the rise and it's not in the Avenger's wheelhouse, Agents step in.  Agents of SHIELD, sure, but also the men and women recruited in secret over the years to the Heritage Espionage and Resistance Organization.This is the story of the Agents of HERO.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I want to give a shout out to ValkyriePhoenix and quadrad for beta-ing this work's start. We owe them all the hugs/chocolate.
> 
> If you're new to the Bodies-verse, you'll want to read Bodies in Time and at least the first bit of Bodies in Space before you read this. This canon is wildly diverged from the original MCU canon, but in places not covered by this work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt's actions as a vigilante come to the attention of the Agents of HERO, but there are connections there no-one thought they'd need to question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins the first Ep of Daredevil's Netflix series, titled Into the Ring. I'll be going in mostly chronological order, and treating the canon flashbacks as known info or covering the more important ones in exposition. If you need clarification at any point, that's what the comments are for. <3

Matt slammed his foot into the wall of the alley to boost himself up. The vibration rattled his leg but also sent a little slapping shockwave of air past the man he'd decided to stop.  The bitter tang of iron blood mixed with the sour smell of drugs and the thick rot on the man's breath.  His fist landed at a sharp angle on the mugger's cheek and the sound of teeth clicking together cut high and sharp in counterpoint to the basso grunt.

"What the fuck it matter to you, man?" he mumbled as he stepped back from Matt. "Not like I touch the girls.  I don't wanna hurt nobody, I just wanna eat."

"You might not touch them, but you scare them, take their money, prevent them from being willing to walk at night. How do they eat if they can't keep jobs because they won't stay past sundown?"  Matt didn't ordinarily chat with his victims, but it was a slow night and the guy posed an interesting ethics question.  Matt couldn't help loving to play Devil's Advocate, he did become a lawyer.

"That's fair enough. If I tell you where a really bad guy is hurting more girls, will you stop hitting me?"

"Will you swear not to mug anymore women?" Matt countered. The man hmm'd low, and the crinkle of a windbreaker's collar told Matt he'd tilted his head.

"Nobody local, tourists in Central Park after dark are still fair game," the guy countered. "Half of 'em like getting the 'real New York experience' you know."  Matt could hear the eye roll in ways that had nothing to do with his enhanced senses.

"Okay. But if I don't like your tip or you get more violent, I can always find you again."

"Yeah, man, yeah. You want Turk, he runs all kinds of shit, and he's working with Russians down by the shipping yards.  They have all kinds of messed up shit going with girls, kids, guns, drugs, all that."  The man's heart was racing, but his sweat smelled of fear, not lies.  It was a risky offer to make, if he planned on telling the truth.  Without a word, Matt scaled a fire escape and raced toward the creak that came from settling metal boxes and the rust and must smell of cargo containers.  He was near silent, his own footsteps only light taps to his sensitive ears.

It got harder to move silently as he ran over the boxes, tracing a path made of vibrating metal under his feet, trying to get closer to the screaming and crying her could hear. It was almost impossibly loud, even three container lengths away.  He tried to tune it out.  He failed.  His hearing would never let him completely ignore screams, but he at least stopped hearing words.  Small mercy, he thought, when the guttural growl that answered the high, terrified squeaks slipped past him with no words in the rise and fall of what should be language, and the ozone stench and crackle of a stun weapon preceded a snap of teeth together.

Leaping into action, Matt lay into the men surrounding who he supposed was Turk. At the least, these were men who needed to learn not to touch Matt's people, and Matt prepared to give them that lesson.  Thoroughly.

The fight dragged on, every strike that landed on a cargo container was a big timpani drum like in some of Foggy's worse operatic album choices. His ears rang with the shots and he flinched out of their way on the purely instinctual level of anyone avoiding something that felt like ice picks to the ears.  Anger, justice, right and wrong, they vanished in the motions and the rage.  Men fell beneath his fists and feet, beneath improvised weapons and their own fear.

Matt sighed as the women who'd been captured milled in panic and he ended up banging on a container to hurry them, his head protesting as he purposely sounded a gong by his ears. It made him irritable and when the gun went off again, he didn't hesitate to demolish the man holding it.  Yet again, he pulled back in the moment right before the blows would have killed, yet again he stood with hot, slimy blood coating his hands like a tangible sin he could taste in thick sickly sweet iron scent on his tongue.

"I..." started a woman, girl maybe, her voice was high and thick with tears she hadn't let out. Her body was slightly too warm, despite the amount of distance, he could feel her body's heat.

"Head to the light, it's the city, find a police officer," he recited again, feeling utterly worn. Her heart skipped half a beat, a far more common thing that basically anyone knew.  She paused a moment, seeming on the edge of asking him something.  He left before she could.  The answer wasn't something he could give, not if she wanted to know what most people did.

<^>

Phil Coulson pressed the button alerting the team that a briefing was ready. The Bus came with all the cool toys, and Fury had made sure the only solidly HERO team in SHIELD were well taken care of.  Lord knew the only people Fury was actually willing to take orders from had made it plenty clear that the team was the Lieu's first and his second.

"Heya, AC," Skye chirped. The hacker's vaguely Asiatic eyes crinkled at the edges in mirth.  "What's our mission?  Is it somewhere exotic?  We haven't done exotic in a while.  I mean, my first 0-8-4 really set me up to expect more jungles in this job."

Phil smiled and waited for May to sit down and FitzSimmons to stop debating whatever it was. Antoine Triplet nodded at him and distracted Jemma just long enough for him to insert a pointed cough, catching their attention.  "Unfortunately, Skye, we won't be seeing any jungles this trip except of the concrete variety.  This is a HERO mission, not a SHIELD one.  We have eye witness reports from a Network informant living in New York City of a vigilante crime fighter with preternatural reflexes, reacting to things that possibly haven't happened yet, dodging bullets, and effectively striking in a full 360 degree range without looking."

"And we're doing intake?" May asked him. Her eyebrow added 'for SHIELD's Index on a HERO mission?  Are you nuts?' with a simple twitch upward.  Thanks to his years working with Natasha, Phil was able to read it without missing a beat.

"Possibly. This incident is hitting all the criteria on the 'to recruit' list, but a few on the 'incapacitate threat' list too.  We're just finding out who this is and how we should proceed.  As always, we try the talking method first, and don't escalate to violence until diplomacy has been exhausted.  Vigilantes can be tricky, they know what they're doing is illegal and they run, hide their identities, and generally make our jobs hard.  In light of this, we'll be parking the Bus at the NYC SHIELD airstrip and using a base in the city itself, so pack heavy, we'll be at this a while."

The team broke up and went to pack, but Skye stayed behind.

"AC? I want to take a little time before we really dig into this to see my brother."

"Well, we're headed to Hell's Kitchen, it's not too far from Avenger's Tower, I see no reason we can't ask to come visit them one night."

"No, I don't mean Bucky. I meant Matt, my first brother.  I've been looking him up, because I sort of thought I should send him a letter or an email or something, and he quit his job to start his own firm a while ago and I want to make sure Matty is alright.  I'd be staying in the Kitchen, and I know that place, I sort of grew up there, when I wasn't being placed in foster homes.  I'd just have to do it... alone."

"Of course, Skye," Phil agreed. She had come so far from the emotionally closed-off girl who pissed Sitwell off with her hacking behind their backs and her lies about her motives.  "Whatever you need, this family is here for you."

"Thanks Dad," she said with a fond eye-roll, but Phil liked the title she used sarcastically.

<^>

Skye had to use every single trick in May's playbook to keep from letting her own heart thundering in her ears psych her out. She took deep breaths and forced herself still as she walked up the stairs to Matt's place.  She debated knocking, but if Matt wasn't running to the door right now he wasn't in.

 **@ my bro's place, he's not home. should I come back to HQ?** she texted to May.

 **No. Stay there until he comes back.**   May's texts were always like that, terse, but not abbreviated or improperly punctuated.

**I'm nervous**

**That's why you stay.**

Tucking her phone away, she bent to pick the lock. She might as well sit on whatever sinfully luxurious thing her secretly hedonistic brother had for a couch.  It would probably be hideous, but Matt was blind so it's not like he'd care.  The door swung open and Skye stepped in, closing up behind her.  Moving to the couch, she made sure to sit like May taught her, legs folded, spine straight, no muscle tense, no joint locked.  Breathing in, breathing out, letting her eyes go soft as she took in the room in the light of the electric billboard across the street.  Calm, even, still.  Her mind floated in the peace until she heard the thump from the stairs to the roof and turned to see the masked man from the surveillance camera footage she'd pulled for AC.  She stood, readying to fight him for the safety of her brother's home.

"Who the... what are you doing here?" he demanded.

"It's my brother's apartment," she informed him. "What are you doing here?"

"Quake?" he asked, lip trembling in the shifting light. He yanked the mask off and she saw cow-licked chestnut hair and unfocused eyes the color of AC's whiskey stash.

"Matty? You're a vigilante?  But you're a lawyer, scratch that; you _run a law firm_ now!  This is like super duper hella illegal man," she protested, but she kept her voice low for his ears.

"Yeah, but I can't stop hearing the screams at night, Quake. How did you sneak up on me?  You stink at sneaking up on anyone and I'm the least sneakable person on the planet."

"Oh," she said, realizing his nickname for her was about her heart, the heart beat that she'd slowed. "I have a new job, and my... boss taught me how to slow down my heart rate to help me... uh.  Would you believe me if I said it was very, very classified and my coworkers would probably wind up vanishing you if I told you?  No body, just poof?  I sadly, now know far more than I ever wanted to about how missing persons can go missing in a very permanent way."

He sighed and pulled her into a hug. Skye let herself melt into strong arms and show him what she couldn't say.  Her arms around his torso said 'I'm here' her forehead on his chest said 'I love you' and the loose muscles of her back under his hands said 'I still trust you' as clearly as if she'd spoken.  They often dispensed with words entirely as kids, his ears and her foot in mouth problem made not talking the smart choice.

"I'm glad you came home, Quake. I missed you when I came back for Christmas that year.  I worried.  So while I'm glad you're here, I'm still going to say, tell me the truth, or agree to not leave my sight again."

Skye snorted. Leave it to her brother to make a shitty blind joke during a moment like this.  Actually, both her brothers pulled shit like this.  The unifying trait in their weird, maybe not connected fully, adopted family was shitty jokes about things that sucked.  Ugh, she was going to have to explain Bucky.  Great, just great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> HERO: when all caps, referring to the secret organization Darcy founded.  
> The Lieu: Darcy's superhero codename.  
> 0-8-4: an unexplained object or person in SHIELD code.  
> Network: the information gathering side of HERO, covering both hackers and street-level.  
> Index: the list of powered people that SHIELD tracks.  
> Bus: the super-plane that SHIELD gave Coulson and his team.  
> Quake: Matt's nickname for Skye.
> 
> Notes  
> Matt's super-senses get mostly channeled into hearing by authors, both of fanfic and in the comics. It makes zero sense other than being the secondary sense for most people, so I'm including details of scent, touch and taste to a degree. If this squicks you, get out now.
> 
> New York is sort of famous for it's crime levels, and even though that has dropped recently, many people still consider getting mugged (non-violently, nobody likes being hit or stabbed or shot) a 'real New York experience' to the disdain of locals.
> 
> Scent and taste are linked, so sometimes a taste must be described as a smell. Matt doesn't have blood in his mouth at the end of the fight, but the scent is expressing as taste.
> 
> Skye's first 0-8-4 is the second mission in the Agents of SHIELD canon, the Hydra science bomb in the Venezuelan jungle. It's not her first actual mission like it was in canon, because in this she joined sooner and did some milk-run missions first as training.
> 
> Phil manages the fact that he's multiple things better than May, who has issues code-switching between SHIELD and HERO. This is why Phil is the leader when May is just as capable in the field.
> 
> Vigilante activity is illegal, although in the real world, there are people who do this in a legal method involving citizens arrests. Matt wouldn't be in trouble if he filled out paperwork on his activities and maybe didn't hospitalize anyone. Real Life Super Heroes, or RLSH, tend to know the limits of the law and work inside it, Matt has reasons not to trust the limits of the law.
> 
> Matt's sensory issues make his comfort threshold higher, so every thing he has in his life that he got to choose is going to seem sumptuous to regular people. He's not a hedonist, but he seems that way. Skye still has shit to un-learn.
> 
> In the episodes after Skye got powers, it's revealed she can meditate to drive down her heart rate. In Season 2 of Daredevil, it is revealed that Matt can't sense people with low heart rates, like Nobu's ninjas.
> 
> Matt makes blind jokes and Bucky makes amputee jokes and memory jokes. None of those jokes would be okay for a person without those disabilities to make about them, but people cope through humor and it's something they are saying about themselves. Like cats, the boxes we get in ourselves are good and the boxes we are put in by others are bad, even if it's the same box.
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "Uh huh. Save the self righteous worry, Dread Pirate Roberts, you're a vigilante who breaks the law and other people's bones. What the literal and entire fuck?"  
> "As opposed to a figurative and partial fuck?" he joked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Skye's reunion leads to awkward questions and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all your support. This one is for Beth_Mac, Shadows_of_Shemai, quadrad, hhhellcat, MarauderHeir, AliceMadisonParker, angelofheaven, ValkyriePhoenix, Tsita, nemohana, Selene_Aduial and the 30 kudo-ers.
> 
> As a note for my Bodies-Verse people, my computer is back, but life is being [[redacted]] to me and very busy, so I'm not going to be able to get the new Bodies in Space chapter up until tomorrow, I'm sorry.

Matt felt his sister's heart rate bounce from her too fast, too loud, fear-anger-nerves rate, down to barely above the point where he stopped hearing it, and back up.  He rubbed circles on her excessively washed cotton tee over her upper spine, between what once were sharp gawky angles of shoulder blades and now were covered in thick muscles.  What had she gone through?  What left her scared to tell him the truth?  What made her lie about her boss helping and tell the truth about murder?  What sort of shit had happened to his little sister when he wasn't looking?

What kind of brother was he that he let that happen?

"So can you tell me what you were doing before you got the new, scary job?" he asked, not sure what he hoped for more.

"Oh!  Yeah, I can talk about that," she said, her heart normalizing at the low steady rumble that he thought as a kid sounded like an earthquake.  He'd lived through buildings shattering since then, and he liked his sister's heart beat better than the crack and crash of a real collapse.  She leaned away from him and his world on fire gave him an impression of moving her hand near her face.  Brushing away hair, or a tear, either would fit.  "I went looking for my bio-parents after you left for college.  I was missing having family, and yes, I know that's dumb.  They wouldn't necessarily be family, but I was sixteen and hurting.  I hooked up with some hacktivists, a group called Rising Tide."

"The terrorists?" Matt interrupted.  How could he not have been there to stop her from getting mixed up in something that dangerous?

"The information freedom fighters," she corrected.

"Mary Sue Poots you know what I mean."

"Ugh," she shuddered.  "If you're going to do the full name thing, use the right one.  It's Skye Barnes now."

"Barnes?  You mean you found them?"

"My parents?  No.  I was found in China by SHIELD agents and my birth is the most classified anything I've laid hands on.  I don't want to know my parents anymore.  Barnes is from my... my second brother.  I hope it's okay.  I helped his girlfriend work his missing persons case, when she found him we bonded over having some regrettable pasts, and... I'm a Barnes now.  Mutual adopting and I'm not making anyone take the Poots name.  We made it legal when we had to co-ordinate on the embassy security."

Matt didn't technically have the same visual needs as seeing people, but he still reflexively blinked when surprised.  He figured he looked goofy because Skye started giggling at him.

"It's a lot to unpack," he defended.  "So, security?"

"That's the thread you want to pull first?" she asked.  "Yes, security.  I was handling cyber stuff and he was on the physical side.  I  _ can _ fight, I  _ prefer _ hacking.  So stop worrying, I made it out of the oh so shady realm of wikileaks and free JSTOR passwords and went legit."

"That's good.  Rising Tide does some serious stuff that could get you in trouble."

"Uh huh.  Save the self righteous worry, Dread Pirate Roberts, you're a vigilante who breaks the law  _ and  _ other people's bones.  What the literal and entire fuck?"

"As opposed to a figurative partial fuck?" he joked.  She shifted and he knew she was glaring at him.  "I can't not.  I hear the pain of the people around me, twenty four seven.  I can't sleep.  I can't go to work every day fighting for them in courts of law, trying to find some kind of justice, then come home and turn that need for injustice to be punished off.  My integrity isn't a light switch.  And it's not like I'm the only unsupervised masked crusader."

"Oh buddy, if you want to claim the superhero defense, that is a new can of worms entirely."  Skye sighed and rubbed her face.  He could hear the shifting of her jacket and the slight scrape sound of skin on skin as the air around her arm moved.

"Only if I get caught," he pointed out.

"Yeah, that new job of mine?  You've been caught.  Matthew Michael Murdock, by the power vested in me as an Agent of SHIELD, I am taking you into custody for questioning."

"What?"  He knew his mouth was hanging open.

"Don't worry, we're using HERO methods on this mission, not SHIELD ones.  HERO just doesn't have any actual authority, because it's the even more secret version of the secret agency."

"I have so many questions."

"Ask them at the base.  Put your dumb scarf back on or your identity is toast."

<^>

Phil Coulson prided himself on not letting the skills of his assets surprise him.  He'd be impressed, sure, Natasha and Clint before her had practically required praise to function, so he could nod and say 'good job' or 'impressive' or 'that seemed like it should have been harder' when the situation called for it.  But he never ever got floored by one of his people doing something amazing or impossible.  That would imply he didn't have faith they could do it.

Skye Barnes made him contemplate the wisdom of that choice, especially when she walked into their temporary base in a safe house over a noodle shop dragging their masked vigilante behind her like an errant puppy.

"Hi AC, I need to vet somebody, can I borrow May?"

"Sure," he said weakly and waved May forward.  She raised an eloquent eyebrow and followed Skye and her catch into the make-shift interrogation room, and Phil flipped on the recording device to tune in.

"Matt, sit," Skye ordered, and the man stepped forward and felt the air for half a second too long before pulling out the chair to obey.  "Oh God, where to start."

"Language, Skye," he said calmly.

"Do not 'language' me, you're in trouble.  Okay, for the record, your name is Matthew Michael Murdock, you were born in New York City in 1985, blinded at age nine, orphaned less than a year later, lived at Saint Agnes Orphanage and attended Columbia University.  You have a law degree and have passed the Bar exam.  Current profession, lawyer, current place of residence, Hell's Kitchen's least rentable one bedroom penthouse loft."

"It's not that bad."

"Matt, you have total blindness, and when it comes to your place?  That's a good thing, trust me.  When did the vigilante activities begin?" Skye asked, firmly keeping on track.  Phil could see the tense line of her back as it faced the camera, her head tilted slightly, her interview posture designed to imply openness and ease.

"I'm not saying anything without my attorney," Murdock countered.

"Quit being an ass and I won't call Tony Stark's lawyers to rep my side of this argument," Skye told him.  "I can do it, the emergency number is in my speed dial."

"I'd call the bluff, except, unless you got better at lying with your heartbeat as well as quieting it, you are telling the truth," he said with obvious awe.  "When did you get the emergency number of one of the best lawyers out there?"

"Answer mine, I'll answer yours."

"August 2013, I quit Landman and Zack because I could feel my soul dying, and I kept hearing things that made my gut turn.  What did it was a little girl, crying in her bed, in a building down the block.  Her father liked to go to her room late at night... when his wife was asleep.  I called Child Services, like you're supposed to.  I trusted the system.  But the mom, she wouldn't believe it.  Said it wasn't true.  And the dad, he was smart.  He made sure what he did, how he did it, didn't leave a mark.  The law couldn't do anything to help that little girl.

"But you could," May said gently.   Murdock flinched and tried to refocus, his earlier argument shattered by some shock that Phil couldn't name.

"He spent the next month in a hospital, eating through a straw.  And I never slept better.  I won't feel bad about that, I won't apologize for doing what I can to help people.  I came home late tonight because I was making sure the women not too much older than you that I got out of a shipping container made it to the cops.  I'm doing the right thing."

"I'm not actually arguing that," Skye told him.  "Too many of my friends and family act beside the law rather than inside it for me to judge you.  My brother, the one I told you about?  Is the Winter Soldier.  The Black Widow and the Lieu take me on spa weekends with Extreme.  That's how I got the number for Tony's lawyers, I occasionally babysit their kids and it was considered required knowledge."

"Then you know what I do is necessary."

"I know my job is to make sure that you have decent back up and don't die in an alley if you do this, and arrest you if needed in the case you refuse some basic training to meet the requirements of an Agent of HERO.  Sit tight, I'll be back in a second."

<^>

Skye rolled her shoulders as she left the little mostly-soundproof room.  It was good for keeping normal hearing people from knowing what was said outside, but bets were sort of off when it came to Matty.  This was not a part of what she'd signed up for.

"Thoughts?" she asked Coulson and May.  She knew what she wanted, to recruit him, but her opinion was low-ish on the list of things that got factored unless she had more proof than her gut feelings.

"He's obviously either enhanced in some way, or hearing things that aren't there" May began.  "Hearing a little girl crying from down the block?  That's not normal sense-compensation.  That's superhuman ability."

"Yes, but that's not the question we're asking.  This isn't intake for the Index, this is a HERO mission.  The question should be; Is he a threat?" Phil asked.

"He's my brother," Skye said, interrupting her boss.  "He's a little troll and he cracks super bad blind jokes and quotes Thurgood Marshall far too often, but he's not dangerous.  He's not like the China mission, he's not like the woman with the intangible stalker, I swear."

"I'd still feel better monitoring the situation," Coulson told her in the gentle and annoying way he had of breaking bad news.

"It would be safer to bring him in," May said, her eyes warning them.

"He's my brother," Skye repeated.

"And Miles Lydon was your lover," May rebutted.  "Skye, you have a history of making bad personal judgment calls about people.  You're a gifted agent, but you are not Coulson.  Recruitment choices aren't your specialty.  Miles wasn't even the worst."

"Hey, you don't get to hold Ward against me, I was assigned to flip him if I could and you're the one who slept with him."

"Skye, May, calm down," Phil snapped as May glared at Skye and Skye made a face at May.  The former mole slash special project was a sore spot for basically everyone.  "We can handle this civilly, and not bring up past indiscretions and old wounds."

"We can recruit Matt is what we can do," Skye insisted.  "He needs back-up, this isn't a safe life choice."

"He needs a doctor," May insisted.  "He's a blind man fighting crime and severely injuring people because he heard voices.  I want a second opinion that isn't related to him."

"He's not crazy!" Skye snapped.  "Not like that, anyway.  Dressing like a reject ninja and getting into regular smack downs with the criminal element isn't the picture of mental health, but he's not hallucinatory.  His hearing really is that good."

"Then why did he startle when I spoke in interrogation?" May asked.

"Because your resting heart-rate is low enough you weren't announcing your presence constantly, you barely breathe in interrogations, which is creepy even when I can see you, and you had acted like you weren't planning on speaking in the beginning," Skye listed off on her fingers.

"Uh, pardon," Fitz interrupted.  "Did you intend to let the tall gentleman in the black pajamas go?  I was coming back from a run to get cheesecake for Simmons, and he passed me on the stairs..."

Coulson let out a muffled and uncharacteristic swear word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Hacktivists: the hacker-activists of Rising Tide, the group Skye was a part of before Season One of Agents of SHIELD.  
> Mary Sue Poots: Skye's name in the orphanage, she made the smart choice to change to Skye after leaving.  
> Wikileaks: a form of whistleblowing.  
> JSTOR: a digital library of academic journals, books, and primary sources.  
> Legit: legitimate, above board and legal.  
> Dread Pirate Roberts: a character from The Princess Bride who dresses like Matt's season one look.  
> AC: Skye's nickname for Agent Coulson.  
> Extreme: Pepper's Extremis-powered super-hero name.
> 
> Notes:  
> Matt really is very able to tell a lot of things from his senses, but he does get signals mixed. Skye wasn't so much lying about who trained her, she was rapidly rephrasing from SHIELD-speak and also panicked over other things. That said, Matt is sort of right to wonder what all has changed up on him since he last saw her and if she's okay.
> 
> Being adopted can have a host of psychological impacts, especially if like Skye, the child stayed in the system. Her search is canon both for the shows and this fic-verse. Matt's concern about Rising Tide is also basically canon if not stated, because of how everyone not in the RT organization reacted to Skye's affiliation.
> 
> JSTOR is a fantastic resource, it's also one of the major ground battle in the freedom of information debate and people do post free-use passwords as a form of protest over the cost of the JSTOR service. It's illegal, but not super dangerous. Skye is being sarcastic as her legal job is much riskier than her work with Rising Tide.
> 
> Matt looks like he's cosplaying DPR from Princess Bride in his 'man in a black mask' outfit. It's super dorky and Skye would so needle him over it.
> 
> For clarification, Skye isn't arresting him, she's just bringing him in for questioning. When he leaves, he hasn't been charged, and thus is not escaping custody.
> 
> Apologies to people who already knew the infodump information, I wanted to get the base there for people who didn't watch the show. Also, some lines taken from Season One of Daredevil.
> 
> In Bodies in Space, Pepper kept her Extremis powers and is in the process of becoming a super hero. The code name Extreme is what I have her going by because in this case, the comic name for her (Rescue) doesn't work at all. She's a lava-powered badass, not a St Bernard dog.
> 
> We now see the beginning of the stress fractures between Skye and May. I know they may seem OOC, but I swear it's just the fact that two strong and wildly different women are going to rub each other wrong occasionally and they know each other well enough to hit a lot of nerves. Especially with the shadow of Grant Ward, and the fact that literally nothing they did could pull him back from the dark side, hanging over the relationship.
> 
> May's instinct to look for a logical solution (Matt has mental health problems) before a super one (he has super-senses) is a useful tool in a less crazy world, but in the one she's in, makes her look cynical. Skye's tendency to trust is really freaking naïve, but here we know is the right thing. Neither one is wrong or bad, just different.
> 
> I altered the canon of Simmons going under-cover, because it made no sense to me except to introduce Bobbi and I'm not bringing her in that way. So for the record, the team is Coulson, May, Trip, FitzSimmons, Skye, and Fitz isn't brain-damaged.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "I know teenagers that could get through that thing you have pretending to lock your door."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt goes to work, Karen muses on captivity, and Skye is tired of the drama inherent in family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To quadrad, Darylslover33, ValkyriePhoenix, Shadows_of_Shemai, Beth_Mac, nemohana, hhhellcat, ClockWeasel, Selene_Aduial, and the 7 new kudo-ers.

Matt slapped his phone as it repeated Foggy's name at him.  His best friend was cheerful as ever about the rental office they'd picked out.  The research was all solid, they knew they would rent it, they even had the paperwork from the realtor's website printed off and filled out to speed things up, but the agent still wanted to walk them through the property.  Foggy was sure to tell him she wasn't a good catch, which meant she was attractive and Foggy didn't want Matt to try to flirt.  How Foggy hadn't figured out it was his own reactions that told Matt who the pretty ones were half the time, Matt would never know.  He joked about his luck with women, but he owed every solid relationship he'd ever had to Foggy, who acted like it was a grand magic trick that Matt could land a date.

"Alright, shake it.  I've got to go bribe a cop," Foggy said by way of segue.

"Foggy..." Mat said warningly.

"Kidding, NSA, if you're listening!" he laughed and Matt felt a cold ball forming in his gut.  Skye didn't work for the NSA, she worked for something bigger, scarier, with more eyes and ears.  "But seriously, I gotta go bribe a cop, bye!"

"You have no idea what's following me," Matt told the dead receiver.

The office was nice.  Well, it was a pit, and he was just glad there wasn't any mold and that he couldn't identify the musty, spicy scent of the carpet in the elevator.  What was nice about it was that it wasn't squeaking clean with polish that hurt his sinuses, it wasn't echoing loudly against glass that threw off his navigation, and it didn't carry that stale despair scent under coffee and printer ink in the air.  In short, it wasn't Landman and Zack.

He did flirt with the realtor, but just enough to fluster her, before diverting into the passive-aggressive bitch fight he and Foggy had kept going since they passed the bar and determined their fate as Avocados at Law.  Neither of them really felt that the other was wrong, Matt knew his principles came with a cost, other people had paid it before, but he still held them, and Foggy knew Matt's ethical standards would keep him from becoming his mother, the thing he made Matt swear to prevent.  Between them, they were an effective and moral team.

Moving into the offices tested his ability to keep up the pretense with Foggy.  His friend knew he could sense things happening, but not how much.  Matt did his best to keep to just the things that any other blind person could probably do, carrying boxes along straight paths Foggy laid out for him and sorting their aggressively ADA compliant files.  The Braille label maker got a good workout too, as he set up his office.

A little under seven hours later, Brett Mahoney called Foggy.  Matt tried not to react to things he probably shouldn't have known until Foggy filled him in on the way to the station.  There, they practiced the smooth one two of Matt's blindness and Foggy's cheerful and friendly demeanor to its best effect, a move perfected over years of arguing extensions on papers in college, getting Ladman and Zack to add the technically required accessibility changes for Matt, and half a dozen bar disputes in the dive they'd adopted at 21.

"Okay, can we please take the handcuffs off the 110 pound woman?" Foggy asked incredulously, clueing Matt to two possible angles, both Miss Page's physical unlikelihood of violence, always a jury favorite, and a possible police over reaction or case mishandling.

"Miss Page," the detective asked, ignoring Foggy, "can you tell me who these men are?"

"We're her lawyers," Matt told him, stressing it just enough to imply a suit over denying access to legal representation.  "Uncuff our client and give us the room.  Please."

The interview went slowly at first, her heart rate a terse, staccato underpinning to her reluctance to speak.  It spiked when Foggy said 'only suspect' and Matt grabbed the ball when she spoke up.  He had to stop himself from snorting when she called them Good Samaritans, while he wanted to think of himself that way, his doubts had been riled up again by his sister's reappearance.

"I bribed a desk sergeant with cigars for his mom," Foggy said easily.

"Our practice is young, and we're aggressively pursuing new clientele, Miss Page," Matt said to her, before turning to Foggy.  "You have got to stop giving Bess cigars."

"She likes to smoke, Matt.  It's a free country," Foggy defended.

"How long have you two been practicing law?" Miss Page asked, incredulous.  Matt checked his watch.

"What time is it?"

"It's 12:22 am," Foggy said.

"About seven hours," he told their first client.

"Well, if you go by when we passed the bar," Foggy started, which was just going to start a fight if they got into what they were doing at Landman and Zack and how very different it was from practicing law, so Matt plastered his 'not now' smile on his face.

"I was going by when we got our own desks."

"Oh, then yeah, about seven hours," Foggy agreed, catching the meaning in the forced grin.

"You've never done this before?" Miss Page said, clearly disturbed by the inexperience.  Fortunately, Matt could do spin like nobody else.

"If you were to hire us, then yes, you would be our first client," he told her, forcing a dual emphasis on hire and first.  Just enough to imply she had more choices than she did, especially with how underfunded and overworked the public defender's office was, and to suggest they'd be utterly devoted to her case.  They would, no law firm ever succeeded after losing it's very first case and he wanted to help, Foggy wanted to help, there was no reason not to pour everything they had into defending Miss Page.

"I don't have any money," she admitted.  Her nervous heartbeat was drowned in Foggy's sudden panicked dismissal, and Matt put his hand on his friend's arm.

You don't have any money, and we don't have any clients.  Maybe we can help each other," he said, as much to Foggy as to her.  "How did you know Mr. Fisher?"

Her story unfolded like a sordid drama show, like the ones his downstairs neighbor watched.  He noted a series of small lies, about things that she shouldn't feel she had to lie about.  She said secretary with no hesitation, it was easy on her voice like she'd lived it long enough, but it was a lie on her heart, literally.  She was telling the truth about Fisher being a nice guy but not about why she asked him to meet her.

Ultimately, it didn't matter, because she was telling the truth about her innocence.

<^>

Karen Page, or the woman now known as Karen Page, shuffled back into the cell and sat calmly on the bed.  She'd done this before, the cell, the captivity, the slow gnawing on her mind of worry.  She wished she hadn't gone poking about.  He'd have told her not to, her dark hero from the desert lab.  He'd have told her not to bring it up once she had.

Or maybe he wouldn't have.

Maybe he would have told her to do the right thing, no matter what.  To push and demand and to risk everything to pull the truth into the light kicking and screaming.  He was a Winter Soldier, after all, born of times that tried the soul.

Her soul was certainly tried.

She made her choices, anyway, regardless of what she would have been told by a man who probably forgot her existence.  She would survive this and bring the pain to the people who hurt her.  She was never again going to let some secretive, criminal, asshole power structure tell her to sit down and shut up while they hurt people.  Hydra may not have connections to Union Allied Construction, but either way, they had to go.  The truth had to be told.

She was ready.

<^>

Skye met Matt at his apartment sometime around two in the morning.  She went through the door without pausing, testing her lock-picking skills.  It was actually kind of sad how easy it was.

"You have got to get a better security system, Matt," she said by way of hello.  "I know teenagers that could get through that thing you have pretending to lock your door."

"To be fair, how many of those teens did you meet via hacker conventions or chat rooms where lock-picking is a viable hobby?" he asked from the couch.

"A few," she admitted.  "And a few from when I was living in a van and my neighbors were mostly homeless.  Oh and my current babysitting kids, which, the Harrow kids are like seven and all three could breeze past this thing.  You need a new lock.  Or do you want people barging in on your illicit crap?"

"You know I don't.  Why are you here, Skye?" he asked as she sat beside him.

"You called me?" she offered, although it came out a question, since she didn't think he meant right now.  "I'm still not sure how you got my number."

"A scary mutual friend with a penchant for electricity gave it to me.  But I meant in general, why did you come to New York this time?  What's the big mission sort of thing."

"Something big is coming," she admitted.  "A threat that our mutual friend doesn't think we can face alone.  She's building a network of people willing and able to fight for this place, and I think you'd be a good fit.  We had orders to find out if the man in the  black mask was a threat or an asset.  Threat gets nipped in the bud, asset gets recruited and supported."

"I don't have much of a choice, then.  Do I?"  He sighed.  "Skye, I don't want to work for a government agency.  I want to do my thing.  I just want to protect Hell's Kitchen."

"Man you lost a lot of ambition," Skye told her brother as she stood to leave.  "The Matt I remember would have loved to save the world.  It's not like we'd tell you what to do, you know.  We're a non-government agency, some ties to an international agency, but the name stands for _Heritage_ Espionage and Resistance Organization.  Our first members were Howling Commandos and Howard and Maria Stark.  It was founded to fight the fights no one else could, from the shadows no one else could see, using tools no one else had.  The entire group is people who never followed any order that they didn't already think was a good idea, or any leader they didn't respect.  You know how to call me if you change your mind."

"Skye," he said plaintively, trying to cajole her into staying.  "I didn't mean leave."

"I have work," she said.  "Just because we're here to babysit you doesn't mean I can fall down on my other stuff.  If I don't go back now, I won't get enough sleep for May's five am training and that will leave me too cranky to record the advanced hacking course lesson I owe QuarterMiss for loaning us the... never mind.  Night, Matt.  Try to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Shake it: hurry up.  
> NSA: National Security Agency, the thing Americans worry is monitoring them. If anyone would try to build an Insight-style algorithm it's them, although I'd highly doubt it would be used.  
> QuarterMiss: a code-name for an as yet undisclosed member of HERO.
> 
> Notes:  
> Large sections of dialogue lifted straight from the Netflix Daredevil.
> 
> The flashback scenes set in Landman and Zack show a place that is a) not at all ADA compliant, and b) likely kept clean with things that would drive Matt's senses nuts. It's also a place he associates with moral damage, so anything that is not-that is amazing to him.
> 
> Braile label makers are super fun and Matt for sure owns one, so I'm head-canoning that Fogy went nuts and labeled things that don't need labels at all, like Styrofoam cups and the wrapping on the copier paper.
> 
> The canon for Bodies-verse is that the woman known as Karen Page was once a scientist named Isabelle Schaffer, who was kidnapped by Hydra and freed by Bucky Barnes. Her new identity has yet to settle in fully as truth, and she thinks back to her old life (namely the ending of it) when she's maudlin.
> 
> Hackers often practice lock picking and other physical security circumvention as a hobby. A good lock-picker can easily go through a door at the same speed or faster with picks than an average person with a key. Skye is such an expert, as are the Harrow boys (of ValkyriePhoenix's OC's) who as of January 2015 when this is set, would be six. Little would be eight, so the seven count is a handwavey average.
> 
> The scary mutual friend is Darcy. Matt may or may not have given her the whole scoop. He does know who Darcy and her boys are, as he can overhear both sides of a phone conversation from twenty paces, but he also knows he needs to keep a low profile about that.
> 
> HERO has a bit of a barter-economy going, and Skye will trade recorded hacking lessons for extra gear, back-up, cover stories, etc. QuarterMiss is the person who co-ordinates that market and collects debts. I have yet to decide who that is, if she's even a canon character, so any suggestions will be heard.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Matt had to agree, trying to loom over a blind man was... pointless and in bad taste


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Foggy talk legal plans, Karen reveals some (but not all) of her secrets, and Skye goes on a stakeout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Beth_Mac, Tsita, SionnachOiche3, ValkyriePhoenix, quadrad, angelofheaven, Selene_Aduial, MarauderHeir, Shadows_of_Shemai, nemohana, and the 8 new kudo-ers.

Matt was glad for the little bit of sleep Skye convinced him to get, especially when what should have been a normal second meeting became an argument over Miss Page's safety.  He was aware he wasn't thinking clearly as he threatened media involvement over the attempted murder, but he didn't care.  He wanted so much to call his sister and her cynical co-worker and shout "SEE!  This is why I take the law into my hands, the hands holding it are incompetent and corrupt!"  At least Foggy was similarly incensed, his cheer turning to biting sarcasm and evil glee at the thought of retribution.

"And how do you know they're not charging her?" the detective asked.  He was fishing.

"Besides the fact that you were required to do so four hours ago,  _ if _ you were going to do it at all?" Matt asked.

"That's an excellent question," Foggy said, backing him up.  "Along with how the cameras on Miss Page's detention area went on the fritz right before the assault."

Matt tried not to gloat as he asked to speak to the attacker.  The refusal until the charges went through was expected, but he liked needling the people who let this sort of thing happen right under their noses.

"Get my client released," he finished.  "Don't make me ask again."

Sure, he sounded a lot more like his alter ego than was probably safe, but he didn't care.  He was pissed, and relishing the angry thump of the detective's pulse as his partner whispered about there being a time and a place for belligerently stalling lawyers.

"I'll call the ADA," the detective said grudgingly.  "But you take that tone with me again, I don't care if you're blind, I'll kick the shit out of you."

_You can try_ , Matt thought as the man leaned in, the heat of his body brushing Matt's face, his cologne a cloud of knock-off chemical warfare.

"Really?" Foggy asked incredulous, and Matt had to agree, trying to loom over a blind man was... pointless and in bad taste.  "We're going there?"

After the detectives left, Matt sighed.   "It doesn't make any sense," he said to Foggy.  "The ADA had everything they needed.  Unless they had too much."

"What?  What am I missing?" Foggy asked him.

"Maybe she wasn't alone in her apartment," Matt said, thinking out loud.  If Skye knew grade-school kids, not even as old as when he was blinded, who could go through a standard apartment lock, then a trained adult, capable of physically subduing Daniel Fisher, should have had no problem getting into Miss Page's home.  "Maybe they have evidence."

"That's Brady material," Foggy pointed out.  "They'd have to turn that over."

"Only if she were charged.  If she hangs herself in her cell, this all goes away."

"Let's get her some clothes and get the hell out of here," Foggy suggested.  Matt had never agreed more.  This station was giving him the creeps.

<^>

Karen was trying to shake off her trauma and plan a way to get the file back from her apartment when Mr. Nelson, Foggy, gave her tea.  He apologized for the lack of milk, but when his partner Mr. Murdock asked, he admitted he stole it from the financial office next door.

"How are you holding up?" Mr. Murdock asked.

"Better," she told him and it was only partly a lie.  At least she wasn't a captive anymore.  "Thanks for getting me out."

"Don't thank us yet," Foggy told her.  "Just because they released you, doesn't mean they won't eventually bring charges."

"Which means it is crucial you don't speak to anyone other than the two of us about what happened," Mr. Murdock added.  They really did operate as a solid team, each finishing thoughts the other started.  She wished she had a friend like that.  She'd never kept close contact with anyone outside colleagues, even as Isabelle.

"I don't have anyone to talk to anyway," she said.

"Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?" Mr. Murdock asked her, and her heart jumped.  She had planned on going home to grab the file.  

"My apartment's not far."

"You can't go back there," Foggy warned.

"Miss Page," Mr. Murdock interrupted her barely formed protest, although he couldn't have seen her face to know he had.  "Our immediate priority is to keep you safe, and in order to do that, we're going to need to have a frank discussion."  No sooner had she settled enough to agree, than he asked the hard question of did she know who was trying to kill her.

She wanted to say squidnazis.

She didn't say squidnazis.  It wasn't true anyway, even if her paranoid side said it was obvious.  She lacked data.

"Do you know why they're trying to kill you?"

"Yes."  She swallowed hard.  Foggy grabbed a tape recorder that looked like it had been bought in a garage sale prior to the Obama administration.  Her brain went to modifications she could make to their set up to make it more effective and she slapped herself down.  There was no time for mad engineering.  "I work... worked, in the financial department at Union Allied," she told the recorder.  "They're overseeing the bulk of the contracts for the West Side reconstruction."

"I've seen their signs all over Hell's Kitchen," Foggy said, and Karen bit down a bitter laugh.

"The last two years have transformed the business.  There's new owners, new grants, new contracts."

"Yeah," Mr. Murdock said.  "The world watched half of New York get destroyed.  That's a lot of sympathy."

"And Union Allied benefited from every dollar of it.  I was the secretary for the chief accountant, and one of my jobs was to co-ordinate the pension claims for the company.  About a week ago, I was emailed a file called 'Pension Master'.  It must have been meant for my boss, but I made the mistake of opening it."

"I'm guessing it wasn't the pension fund," Mr. Murdock said dryly.  Karen almost laughed.

"It wasn't the  _ size _ of the pension fund.  I couldn't believe the numbers.  But it was still being designated as company pension and it was constantly adjusted, money coming in and going out."

"Going where?" Foggy asked.

"I don't know," she admitted.  "It was coded routing numbers, but we are talking about a lot of money."

"What did you do with the file?" Mr. Murdock asked.  He had a bad habit of asking the thing that would make her the most nervous in any given situation.

"Well, I told my boss, Mr. McClintock, about it, and he laughed it off.  He said it was a theoretical model that they were screwing around with.  I _knew_ something was wrong, no theoretical model would be so far off the actual data.  I just... I thought maybe it was just him, you know?  Embezzling or whatever."

"So how did Daniel Fisher figure into this?" Mr. Murdock asked.

Danny worked in the legal department, and I didn't know him very well, but he was nice, so I asked him to meet me after work.  I don't know how they knew."  She thought about all her precautions, her carefully honed paranoia.  "They must have people watching me.  They must have people everywhere.  All I did was ask him for a drink, and I start to tell him about what I found, and things got blurry.  Like I was drugged."  She knew which drugs, the mix was a rapid metabolizer that dissolved completely in alcohol and left a slightly fruity after-taste.  It wasn't uncommon, it was a pretty easy date rape drug to buy, actually, which was the only reason she hadn't decided the use of the same drug used to keep her docile in Hydra's hands meant anything yet.  "And the next thing I know, I wake up, back in my apartment, covered in blood, with cops shouting and pointing guns and a knife in my hand.  They killed him because of me.  He had a family, a little boy.  I need to get out of here"  She got up to leave.

"We can't advise that Miss Page," Foggy said as he stepped to body block her.

"No, you don't understand.  Either you are with them, or you are not.  And if you are with them then I am dead already and if you are not, then I cannot have anybody else die because of me.  I have too much blood already on my hands."  She knew it would sound like she meant Daniel, and she did, but she also meant the work she did in Hydra's custody.  The work on 'unlocking genetic potential' which was a nice way to say killing people to find a super-soldier formula.  Too many people got hurt for that dream, and she helped hurt them.

"We can protect ourselves, Miss Page," Mr. Murdock assured her, and Karen bit back a harsh and mocking laugh.  It wasn't his fault he'd filter the reaction through the lens of his own blindness and be hurt, even if she meant it as a comparison.  If people as strong and as independent and morally sound as the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow couldn't protect themselves without the back-up of the Avengers, what hope did two lone lawyers in a low rent law firm who worked pro-bono for a woman who looked guilty as sin have?

"No you can't, not from them," she said, her panic giving her strength in her uncoordinated struggle to get out of the office.  When her flailing got her nowhere, she started to cry and Foggy held her.  She was dimly aware of arrangements being made, but didn't quite register any of it until Mr. Murdock called her by her first name and for just a moment she thought she heard the Winter Soldier telling her he'd protect her.

<^>

Skye knew parts of her job would be boring, there always were parts of any job that were dull and dry and encouraged watching cat videos instead of working.  Boring she'd prepared for on this stake-out, Twizzler pull-and-peel for snacking and entertainment, since she was on low-noise protocol, intended to blend in, pen and paper for notes and doodling since the extra electric buzz of a camera or microphone might be heard.

She hadn't prepared for the immense frustration and squick of her brother bringing home a girl.

_Well, it's a good counter surveillance technique since you know I'm onto you, Matty_ , she thought at her brother, wishing she was allowed to say it to his face.  His face quirked in a small smile in her binoculars and he looked right at her.

"Shit, I said that out loud."

He gestured at the window, and she read his lips.  He was talking about how he got the apartment for so cheap.  At least he didn't seem to mind, although that was a fact she didn't need to know about her brother.  "Nasty pervert, romancing a girl with the window uncovered.  I'm right here you man-skank."

Matt coughed and tried to focus on the girl, and... oh she was a client.  That was different and less likely to traumatize Skye.  Nevertheless, she reserved taunting rights.  Especially when Matt pretended he didn't know his guest was nodding.  Skye couldn't see his lips any more, with his back to the window, but she could see the girl's.

"You liar, you knew she was nodding.  I'm onto you, Murdock."

She could see him laughing, as he stood to pace the windows.  She used that to get filled in on the attempt to frame his client.  He talked it out and Skye found herself nodding.

"Yup, girl is lying about not having the file," she told him.  "You probably know that, but she did make a copy, and she is that smart.  All the tells, super sloppy.  Of course, you're blind and she must know the worst tells are visual, so maybe cut her some slack."

Matt made his apologies and the two worked out sleeping arrangements.  Skye muttered about how lucky the girl was that she got to sleep in Matt's silk-sheet Xanadu bed and not out in the freezing rain that came down like snot from the sky all around the little nest Skye put up on the scaffolding of the lit billboard.  When the girl slipped out past Matt, Skye said a silent prayer of thanks for Bucky's training.

The roofs were slick and she nearly missed the ledge of the HQ's building, but she got inside safely and changed clothes while filling the team in.

"He's on the move as the vigilante?" May asked.  "And you left him?"

"Relax May, I have a tracker on him and he doesn't know it's there."

"You can't promise that," her SO warned.  "Not with his powers."

"I can promise that May, it's an RFID tag I hid on his shoes.  He'll never see it, if he feels it he'll dismiss it as yet another stupid price sticker that he missed because he's always missing those, and he has no reason to think I'd bug him when I just spent four hours camped in the nastiest weather imaginable outside his apartment to watch him, because only a paranoid lunatic would sit out in that nonsense if they had any option to just watch a screen instead."

"So where is he?" Phil asked, stalling another fight.  Skye brought up the GPS on her tablet.

"I'll follow him, and bail him out of trouble, then give him a lecture on risk.  Relax, guys... I've got this.  I know you think my judgment is clouded because Matt's family, but look at the rest of my family.  I'm a Barnes, I'm a part of your team.  Maybe I shouldn't trust Matt, but if it comes to that, which of us will you bet on in a fight?"

"Take an ICER," May ordered by way of permission and apology.

"Love you too," Skye told her as she took the gun and holstered it under the dark denim jacket with the super warm fleece lining that Trip handed her.  "I'll come back with a sheepish and apologetic vigilante ready for training."

"Just make sure you do come back," Jemma ordered her.  "We're not going to be happy if we have to go into the field to get you.  Fitz and I still have... issues with field work."

"Hey, you're doing better," Skye told her friend.  "You haven't shot a friendly in the field for months.  I'll go save my dumbass brother and then we can all go get the best pizza in the city together.  Maybe make him meet my other dumbass brother.  It'll be fine, you'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Brady material: information and evidence that is material to the guilt or innocence or to the punishment of a defendant.  
> Squidnazis: Hydra in this Verse.  
> Rapid metabolizer: a drug that clears out of the system quickly, so tests later don't show it, common in date rape drugs.  
> Pro-bono: for free, literally "for the good"  
> Twizzler pull-and-peel: candy related to licorice, but strawberry or cherry flavor and on the top foods-to-play-with list.  
> Man-skank: a slut who is male.  
> Tells: the small things people do when lying, like looking away, shifting, or playing with hair.  
> Xanadu: fictional pleasure-land, implies opulence.  
> RFID: pronounced Arr-fid, a type of passive tracker, collects energy from a nearby RFID readers to transmit tracking data.
> 
> Notes:  
> Some lines lifted from the Netflix show because I know nothing of legal stuff.
> 
> Yes, that character does try to loom over Matt, it's dumb.
> 
> So far, Matt's been very formal with Karen, Foggy less so because it's not in his nature. She returns this by thinking of Foggy by that name and Matt as Mr. Murdock.
> 
> Mad Engineering Note: most of the 'mad science' you see in fiction is actually mad engineering, as it's building, but not testing a hypothesis aside from 'i do wat i want'. My Karen used to be a scientist, she knows that.
> 
> Stake outs are boring, that's just a fact. Preparation is everything. Getting to tease your mark/brother... Priceless.
> 
> As you can see, May is softening. She's less scared now that she sees Skye being smart about this and taking precautions. She's not 100% a dick all the way through, just on the surface.
> 
> My Jemma never did the undercover thing, it wasn't necessary for her, and Fitz doesn't have brain issues for the same reasons. She's still hesitant about field missions as is Fitz, because they work better in a lab, but she would go after Skye in a pinch.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “You were stalking me."  
> “To-may-to, to-mah-to. You were getting beat up, I stopped it. You can salve that manly ego by telling yourself whatever.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mat gets in a fight, Karen gets in over her head, and Skye gets in an awkward situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest thank yous to Shadows_of_Shemai, ValkyriePhoenix, Beth_Mac, angelofheaven, hhhellcat, nemohana, Darylslover33, MarauderHeir, Selene_Aduial, and the 10 new kudo-ers.
> 
>  
> 
> As a side note, my midterms are this week and next week is Spring Break, so updates will be sporadic at best until I get done with all that.

Matt was used to stalking criminals from the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen, but it felt different to stalk after an innocent.  Like it was somehow more of a violation to follow a scared and determined heartbeat than to follow an angry or guilty one.  He stopped once or twice to catch his breath as it came unusually short and rough in his lungs.  Guilt burned him.  He wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling, but usually it came from an inaction that he regretted, or an action seen to be wrong in the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight.

Never over an action he was actively pursuing in the moment.

Pushing past the feeling, he followed Karen to her apartment in time to open the door on a knife wielding madman trying to kill her.  Matt launched into the fight with little caution, rage overtaking his other senses.  He knew now what he hadn't known as a kid, when he'd get frightened of how his father's eyes could go dead before the violence came.  He knew how it felt to let the Devil out.

At some point, the man knocked him down, got the upper hand, and as Matt braced to take another direct blow in trade for standing a gunshot sounded and the man collapsed.

"And this is why you're an asshole," his sister said.  "I could have been here at the same time as you to take him down before he made your pretty face into something not fit to be seen, but no, you make me trail after your stubborn ass."

"What are you doing?" he demanded as he stood up.

"My job!" she snapped.  It was freaky to hear her so angry without the phantom war drum of her heart.  Brushing past him, she offered a hand to Karen.  "Hi, I'm Agent Barnes, would you like to have this conversation somewhere with fewer bloodstains?"

"I... yes," Karen said.  "Oh my god, the drive!"

"I'll get it," Skye offered.

"You just shot a man!  Are we ignoring that?" Matt asked.  What was his sister mixed up in, if summary shootings were this normal?

"He was trying to kill you and the girl.  He had a knife, he was a clear and present danger to others, I was acting in good faith as an officer of the law.  Also, that was an ICER round, he's not dead."

"He has no pulse," Matt told her.

"Yeah, that happens.  After Mike got ICE'd we thought he was dead until the dendrotoxin cleared his primary neurological systems.  He'll be fine.  Hell of a hang over, though.  The times I got hit with these rounds convinced me I don't want to do that again."

"You've been  _ shot _ ?" Matt demanded, his voice edging up high as the mild voiced man who argued for wait-and-see came in.  "She's been shot?"

"We've all been shot," he replied.  "Skye, this is your collar, how do we proceed?"

"Well, if this stubborn idiot had signed the papers, we'd take the attacker in and let May get everything he knows out of him because he attacked an agent.  Since that’s not the case, we have to give the perp to the local LEOs, along with any data on the drive he was trying to steal."

"You can't," Karen gasped.  "You can't take it to the police, you can't trust anyone."

"Then we tell everyone," Matt said.  "We take it to the press, we get it published.  Blow the whole thing open and let God sort it out."

"Actually, that's not a bad idea," Skye said.  "Oh stop looking at me like that May, you know what I mean.  I was on the leaks team for Heracles, you know that, and you know that half the people we uncovered were in a place to stab people you care about in the back.  A press leak is a tool like any other, you just have to use it right."

"Fine.  But I want it on the record I don't like this."

"We'll take care of this," his sister told his client.  "Who wants noodles?  The HQ smelled like udon all day and I'm starving."

<^>

Karen wasn’t sure what to think as she was ushered into an office space even dingier than that of Nelson and Murdock over a pan-Asian noodle shop.  The agents seemed competent and comfortable with each other, although Agent May was utterly terrifying and Karen couldn’t tell from the others if her face was supposed to look like she was contemplating murder.  Either yes, and that was disturbing, or Agent May was actually happy right now, as the young Agent with the British accent implied, and that was… more disturbing but in different ways.

“What are we doing here?  Who are you people?”

“I’m Agent Coulson, of SHIELD and HERO, this is Agent May, Agent Triplet, Agents Fitz and Simmons, and I believe you already met Agent Barnes.  We were... in the neighborhood.”

“You were stalking me,” the man in the black mask said.

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Agent Barnes quipped back.  “You were getting beat up, I stopped it.  You can salve that manly ego by telling yourself whatever.”

“Can we please focus on the unconscious man still in the van downstairs?” Agent Triplet asked.  “You two can do your weird drama after the bad guy is handled.”

“Way ahead of you Trip,” Agent Barnes said, holding up a smartphone.  “I found the squeaky-clean-est whistle blowing reporter in the Kitchen, ID’d the best drop method, and after five minutes with a computer, can send him the full report plus file.  Our scumbag is Mr. Rance, he’s a killer for hire with two outstanding warrants, and the full file is being pulled for AC as we speak.  If someone would just drive him to a detention facility, we can call it a night.  Now, what to do with the non-murderers?”

“You already know we can’t hold them,” Agent May said.  “Not without a lot of paperwork I know you don’t want to do.”

“Fine,” Agent Barnes said with a sigh.  “You two are free to go, please don’t leave town for the next few weeks, we may need to contact you about what happened.  Miss Page, I can take your contact information now if you’d like.”

Karen signed the form she was handed after reading it three times.  When she did, Agent Fitz walked her out to the sidewalk where the rain had finally started to let up.  She heard muffled shouting behind her, but didn’t look back.  She owed the people who saved her that much privacy at least.

<^>

Skye shifted on the balls of her feet outside Matt’s office.  It might be wrong to intrude on this side of his life, but she was more than just the Agent chasing him, she was his sister, and she really did want to reunite with him.  She knocked, and Matt’s partner answered.

“Hi, welcome to Nelson and Murdock, how may we defend you today?”

“Is that seriously how you guys greet clients?” Skye laughed.  “My brother is such a dork.  I’m Skye, his sister.  I’m in town for a while and I thought I’d stop by, try to catch up.”

“Woah, wait, the mysterious disappearing sister?  I’ve wanted to meet you since, well, basically forever.  I’m Foggy, Foggy Nelson.  I’m Matt’s partner.  Business partner, we own the firm, that I now realize you must know and I will shut up.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Foggy.  I hope you’re at least trying to keep Matt in one piece, he’s a bit of a wreck, and don’t let him blame Catholicism for that, it’s at least half masochism.  I went to the same orphanage he was at my entire formative years, and I don’t do half the self-destructive crap he does.”

“Oh, trust me, I know of what you speak.  Hey, when Matt was little, did he do the Thurgood Marshall thing?  We must dissent from the apathy… that thing?  Because it’s too freaky to imagine a cute little tyke of a Murdock reciting Marshall.”

“Oh did he ever,” Skye agreed, laughing, her hand on Foggy’s shoulder as she recalled Matt’s thirteen year old protest in the school lunchroom against removing milk from the free lunch menu.  “Does he still eat unflavored yogurt like some kind of ancient greek peasant?”

“Oh my god, yes!  All the time.  And he hates ice cream, the philistine.”

Skye froze up.  She actually knew where the ice cream thing came from, and it was not a fun story.  She didn’t blame Matt for not sharing it, but she wasn’t going to laugh about it either.

“I am sensing a line got crossed,” Foggy said, stepping back into the office.  “You went kinda pale.  You wanna come in and sit down?  You can tell me what line I crossed so I never cross it again, and I think we still have some of the next door neighbor’s tea.  I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay, Foggy,” Skye reassured him.  “It’s not my story, but I get why he wouldn’t share that one.  It’s kinda not the sort of thing he talks about with… well, anyone.  I had to get him pissed before he told me, and Matt doesn’t let his anger out often.  He bottles it up until it explodes.”

Foggy snorted.  “You mean like the time he traumatized the frat bro at the party who’d been slipping roofies?  Or the time he made our Torts professor’s teaching assistant cry?”

“Actually, he’s getting better if he  _ just _ makes people cry.  He broke a kid’s nose once for calling me names.  I don’t even remember what the kid was saying, crap about being unadoptable, I’d guess, that was common enough, but I do remember Matt coming out of nowhere to flatten him.”

“Matt?  The do-no-harm, hyper-intellectual, very Catholic Matt?  Are we still talking about Matt Murdock?”

“I don’t know who you mean, but I’m talking about Battlin’ Jack’s son… he can throw down.”

“I’m gonna sound like such a dick,” Foggy muttered, “but he’s  _ blind _ .”

“Do you really think a guy with the name _ Battlin’ Jack  _ is going to let his kid walk around unable to fight, with or without sight?  He can hit, believe me.  It has nothing to do with his blindness.  Hell,  _ I  _ can fight while blindfolded, it’s not that much harder.  My supervising officer started me on blind-fight maybe a year ago, it’s very useful.”

“Wait, supervising who now?”

Skye smirked at him.  “Classified.  Much like my job, my birth, my internet handle….”

“You do know how to intrigue a man,” Foggy joked, but she could see the flush in his cheeks.  She knew she was cute, it was still nice to get confirmation.  “Sadly, however, I was just going to close up for the evening, a client offered to bring in a casserole she made.  Y’know, thank us for making sure she wasn’t unjustly sentenced for murder… that sort of thing.”

“Well that sounds delicious,” Skye said, about to excuse herself, when a cough from the door startled her.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Matt asked.

“Would who like to…. Agent Barnes!” Karen gasped in shock.

“Agent Barnes?” Foggy asked incredulously.

“Okay, I have explaining to do, obviously,” Skye said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> ICE'd: slang for shot with an ICER  
> Collar: arrest  
> Local LEOs: local law enforcement officers  
> Heracles: a reference to the Heracles Burn operation in Bodies in Space  
> Roofies: date rape drugs
> 
> Notes:  
> Matt's guilt is a major theme in both the comics and the MCU. I'm forcably removing some of his ability to feel guilty over things like lying to Foggy (later though) so I'm compensating by looking at guilt over other things, like stalking Karen.
> 
> ICERs are much more effective than Matt's usual 'punch until it stops moving' method and thus the fight is cut short. Also, I'm pretty sure that although it isn't shown, Skye and the rest of the team have all taken ICER rounds, if only because a normal part of many forms of non-lethal weapons training involves getting hit with said weapon. Phil is calm about it because it's another day at the office for him, Matt isn't because for him, it's not.
> 
> May is much grumpier here than probably makes sense, I swear I have reasons and it's not May-bashing, but can everyone just give the woman some slack? She's only going to be in chapters for a little while longer, and then I can shuffle her off to the side, but I do need someone to be the grumpy misanthrope and I can't actually pull in Hunter for it due to how I structured canon.
> 
> Baby-Matt did indeed quote Thurgood Marshall in flashbacks in the show. He's always been a dork. The yogurt thing is canon too, connected to his senses. The flavored yogurts are too sweet and chemical for him. The ice cream however is connected to Stick and his child abuse of Matt. Skye knows about it because she bugged him until he shared, but Matt doesn't usually talk about it.
> 
> Matt's lawyer identity is usually very peaceful and thought-based, preferring to argue out a problem and not fight physically. It's informed by his Dad's desire for him to use words not fists, but his Daredevil side is much more punch-the-problem and comes from his Dad's career as a boxer and the training he received from both Jack and Stick. Skye saw that side prior to him learning to trap it under his lawyer self, Foggy has only seen the lawyer and not the warrior.
> 
> Blind-fight is a technique to fight while blinded. Anyone who can fight with vision, can learn to fight without vision, although it takes dedication. Much like ambidextrous fighting, it increases the range of a fighter's ability so that an unexpected problem (injured hand, lights go out) doesn't end the fight.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Real mature, aren’t you supposed to be an adult before they let you be a secret agent? Do I need to sue for child labor law violation?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Darylslover33, Shadows_of_Shemai, Beth_Mac, ValkyriePhoenix, angelofheaven, nemohana, MarauderHeir, SionnachOiche3, Selene_Aduial and the 7 new kudo-ers.
> 
> I has returned!!! As a reminder, updates to this are M-W-F.

Matt groaned as his sister shifted sheepishly.  He could practically feel the heat from her cheeks as her two lives collided in a messy and brilliantly dramatic way.  As much as he’d love to let her stew in the consequences of meddling with both sides of his life, Matt knew he should stand by his family, which meant saving her from herself as he stopped her awkward deflections.

“Look, Skye was my sister in all but name when I was a kid, we grew up, I became a lawyer, she became a super spy government agent type thing.  It’s not that complicated.”

“Thanks for the bail-out Matty.”  She popped up on her toes, her shoes creaking as she shifted, and placed a single gentle kiss on his cheek.  Her lips were dry and a little chapped against his after-five shadow, but at least she’d remembered how much he hated chap-stick’s gooey feel.  “You’re a good brother, remind me to refrain from sharing embarrassing baby stories later.”

Matt rolled his eyes behind his glasses, but let a smile tug at his lips.

“OH!” Karen exclaimed with relief, “you’re the one he missed!  We were talking last night about… stuff and he said he’d give anything to see sky one more time.  I thought you meant the blue, above our heads kind, Matt.”

“He probably did,” Skye informed her.  “He was blind when we met, he’s never seen my face.  The weirdo just is willing to adopt, sight unseen.”

“Not true,” Matt protested.  Skye was important to him, he didn’t want her thinking he didn’t care as much as he would if he’d seen her with eyes.  “I know what you looked like, I just had to use fingers not eyes to find out.”

“And you poked me in the eye on purpose, which is why you’ll never ever get that chance again,” Skye told him, the scent of her morning coffee shifting and the nearly subsonic sigh of her voice as she breathed past an unusual mouth shape telling him she was sticking her tongue out at him.

“Real mature, aren’t you supposed to be an adult before they let you be a secret agent?  Do I need to sue for child labor law violations?”

“Okay, you two, settle down,” Karen chided, her heart rate dropping back down from the nervous hummingbird whine it had reached for when she saw Skye.  “I made casserole, it’s my Grandmother’s special recipe and she made me promise only to serve it to my future husband.  No funny ideas, though, it’s just the nicest homemade thing I can cook.”

Matt smiled at Foggy’s restrained laugh.  “What qualifies it for future husband status casserole?” Skye asked with curiosity.  It was always wonderful when he got to share in his sister’s insatiable need to learn about anything and everything.

“It’s like filled with virtue or something,” Karen continued as the smell hit the air in a pungent cloud.  From the low rumble of four bellies, he wasn’t the only one who could smell the savory richness.

“I thought I detected a whiff of virtue,” he joked.  “Do we have enough chairs?”

“I’ll get the extra folding chair, Skye can have my office chair,” Foggy said, shuffling around as Matt sat down.  He must have pulled out the chair for Skye, because Matt could hear her heart speed up a little as she thanked Matt’s partner.  Skye had always had a weakness for chivalry, people who championed causes or defended the weak, it made sense his partner’s standard mannerisms would make her happy.  Although if it seemed like Foggy wanted to take that anywhere, Matt would have to warn him about the very scary family that would descend on him if he fucked it up.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Foggy said, unaware of Matt’s musings, “but shouldn’t you be thanking the nut in the mask?”

“He’s not a nut,” Karen defended.  “A little weird, maybe, but not like…”  Skye started coughing.  “Oh, right, classified beyond wildest imagining.”

“With a side order of NDA’s,” Skye agreed.

“Wait, we’re your lawyers, shouldn’t we have looked that over?” Foggy asked.

“I mean, if you want a copy of them, sure,” Skye shrugged, “but my boss is really good about cutting out the legalese stuff so that a regular human understands it.  It helps that we just did ‘anything relating to anyone identified on this list on the night in question’ list.  She can share things that did not happen during the event we’re looking into, and things about people who aren’t y’know, at high risk of getting targeted if information about them comes out.  Technically, she could tell people I have a brother, but she couldn’t identify why people would care.  I hope you don’t though, people are smart and also kinda suck.  Matt would have a target on his back.  Unfun times.”

“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Matt said, reaching over to touch Skye’s hand gently.  “Both of you.”

“Hear, hear,” Foggy said, the heat of his hand wafting up past Matt’s face as he raised a glass in the small confines of the office.

“And, you know,” Karen added, obviously picking up on his tension, “if it weren’t for you two, I’d still be in that cell.”

“Job’s easy when the client is innocent,” Matt reassured her.  “All you did was tell the truth.”

“Yeah, but you listened,” she told him.  Her heart was doing the fluttering thing he had yet to identify as attraction or guilt for her lies.

“Matt’s good at that,” Skye said.  He felt her nudging his leg with a foot.  “He can’t see for shit…”

“But my hearing is excellent,” he finished, smiling.  Things were calm, relaxed, and happy.  For once.

<^>

Foggy let the calm air settle to the edge of an uncomfortable silence, before turning to Karen.  “Don’t get us wrong, we’re still gonna bill you.  You know, as soon as we figure out how to make bills.”

“I did notice you could use some help around here,” the blonde replied.  “And I owe you.  Maybe I could clean the place up a bit?”

“Is this place messy?” Matt joked, and his sister -his incredibly hot sister which was so unfair to Foggy- snorted around a bite of cheese covered goodness.

“Our firm is very prestigious and discerning, Miss Page,” Foggy said warningly, gesturing with his plastic spork to the bare walls.  “Do you have any prior experience hiding electrical cords up in ceiling tiles?”

“No, but I’ll work for free,” she counter-offered.

“Yeah, you’re hired,” Matt said.

“Mazel tov,” Skye chimed in, raising her cup.

“Weren’t you raised Catholic, like Matt?” Foggy asked.

“Eh, it’s different without a family to anchor it,” she explained, tucking brown hair streaked with red-gold behind an ear.  “And I’m pretty good friends with a woman whose very Jewish aunt sort of... adopts everyone?  Like, nobody in that extended family or friends is escaping without being at least twelve percent Jewish, maybe fifteen.  I’m sort of the opinion that with an embassy to actual Asgard sitting in two countries, maybe we should stop nitpicking what we call God unless and until said deity shows up.  We can still find whatever peace we got before, but I just… don’t bother with a label anymore.”

“That’s… practical,” Karen said, and Foggy nodded thoughtfully.  Life had indeed changed since the summer everything came crashing down in Midtown Manhattan, and priorities changed with that.

“I’m a practical sort of person.  Speaking of, Matt, would you mind meeting me over at the old Fogwell place later?  May’s been being a grump and I really think a practical demonstration would help.”

“I am not at all sure I like that woman,” Matt said with a frown and Foggy looked between the three others at the table.  They all looked like they knew what was being talked about, except Foggy who was in the dark.

“Um, who are we talking about?”

“A friend from work,” Skye told him.  “I shouldn’t have brought it up, but Matt’s been squirrely about showing her she doesn’t need to shovel-talk my brother.  I thought I could pin him when his social awkwardness was high.”

“That is surprisingly dirty pool, Agent Barnes,”  he remarked.

“ _ Matt _ is my brother, did you think I didn’t have that side?” she asked rhetorically.  “And if you really want to see dirty pool, I can always hustle folks at the dive bar of your choice.  I learned from the best.”

“Please don’t tell me Matt taught you how to hustle pool,” Foggy begged dramatically.  “I can’t take another paradigm shifting without a clutch so soon.”

“He didn’t,” Skye admitted.  “My other brother, the one from whom I got the Barnes name, he taught me.  He’s a crazy trig whiz and really good at transferring physics to the real world, and pool is just Physics: the Game.  I picked up plenty of his nerd tricks.”

<^>

Skye sighed and rolled her shoulders as she stepped up onto the ledge at the edge of the roof of Matt’s place.  He was beside her, still as a particularly dorky gargoyle.  She imagined they made quite a strange image from below, both in black, Matt’s face partly covered by a mask made from a scarf, hers covered with experimental Backscatter Goggles.

“You don’t have to do this,” her brother said.

“And you didn’t have to save me from Randy Buckthorn living up to his name at the homecoming dance my Freshman year,” she told him.

“He was practically climbing you and you were having a panic attack,” Matt insisted, tilting his head as he did to ‘see’ her better.  “Of course I did.  You’re family.”

“Exactly,” Skye said smiling.  “Where to, Masked Man?”

“Kidnapping, a few blocks East.  Young boy.  Older man, near Saint Pat’s, getting mugged.  College student two blocks south by the bodega getting cat called, followed.  Older woman, Spanish speaking… oh wait, no nevermind, she’s just upset about her plumbing.  Take your pick, or I can try again.  I don’t really get slow nights, not when I can hear the equivalent of five dispatch centers and everyone gets routed to me.  Not just the ones who report it.”

“Good lord, Matt, your powers are  _ depressing _ ,” she told her brother, shaking off the chill.  And she had a hard time when she was given records access.  What was Matt’s every waking moment like?  But she couldn’t fix it, she could only support him.  “I guess we handle the child snatcher first?  Lowest risk to reward ratio, although, we could do preventive for the student.  Can we make a run by the girl first, actually?  I can shoot him with an ICER and we can keep going.”

Matt nodded and leapt off the roof.  Skye followed, her feet finding tiny ledges and her hands wedging in the wooden frames of old double-hung windows to hold her weight as she went over the rough terrain of the city.  Her footfalls sent up tiny clapping sounds on the tar-painted roofs and her palms struck up dust as she boosted to hurdle railings.

She was free-running in the heart of the city she loved, her brother beside her, her gun at her back and her backup dagger in a boot-sheath.  Her heart was pounding, wind whipped pas her face and tangled and somewhere, some idiot just earned a boot to the head.  

Skye couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> NDA's: Non-Disclosure Agreements, the "don't talk" papers.  
> Legalese: lawyer-language, can be hard to understand.  
> Mazel tov: a Jewish phrase expressing congratulations or wishing someone good luck.  
> Dirty pool: cheating or using technical loopholes. Can also refer to the game pool.  
> Backscatter Goggles: based on the Backscatter glasses from the Agents of SHIELD show.  
> Randy: can be short for Randall, but can also mean horny or over-sexual.  
> Double-hung windows: the kind where both the top and bottom frames can move.
> 
> Notes:  
> Blind people really can figure out what a person looks like by touching their face. Matt does this in canon with Foggy, so I'd say it was also something he'd do with Skye. It can feel very strange and oddly intimate, hence Foggy's in canon description of it as 'weird' and Skye turning it into teasing as a coping tool.
> 
> I swear I don't actually ship FoggySkyes, but they are too easy to put in the position of looking shippable. I guess I'll ask you: Do we want to see a Foggy/Skye pairing?
> 
> Skye's religion in the show is very fuzzy. I may be wrong and she confirmed as something else in later seasons, but here she was raised Catholic, has seen Norse Deities, and spent more than ten seconds in the presence of Leora Lewis, hence a vaguely humanist approach.
> 
> Matt is one of those characters that will press any advantage, especially in court, where Foggy would have seen it. Skye picked up his tricks and ran with them, although she also learned things from others.
> 
> Pool hustling is as much an art as it is a science, since most people can't calculate force trajectory in their head. That said, someone like Bucky who can do that is the best choice to learn from. Mat could probably hustle pool using his powers to just play it and letting people get freaked out over the blind guy, but he won't because it would give away his secret.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser: Money on the hoof, and thank God Matt wasn’t here or this would go so badly. Foggy stood and steeled himself for his first deal with the Devil.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt takes a sick day, Foggy takes a client, and Skye takes a test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Shadows_of_Shemai, nemohana, angelofheaven, ValkyriePhoenix, Selene_Aduial, SionnachOiche3, and the 4 new kudo-ers.
> 
> Note: No teaser since this is going up an hour early and I honestly have no clue what I'll write next!

Matt groaned as he sat up in bed.  His mouth was rank, it was like he could taste individual bacteria, his head was sore, and there was this  _ smell _ ….  “Whaa…” he started.

“How much of last night do you remember?” his sister asked from in the kitchen.  Thankfully, she remembered not to shout across the apartment.

“There was a Russian… and you were speaking in… something.  Not English.  Then, there was a truck that ran me over.”

“More like there was a group of seven drunk Romanians doing a bachelor party bar crawl that you mistook for Russian gangsters.  Fortunately for me, if unfortunately for you, Sebestian owns one of those high-power ipod speaker hoodies, and your first hit turned Chumbawamba’s Tubthumping on high and they were too smashed to realize you weren’t just a super enthusiastic dancer.  We should probably get you checked, you passed out when Sebestian hugged you.  I think one of the speakers was by your ear.”

“You don’t seem that concerned by me attacking civilians,” Matt pointed out.  “Aren’t you a member law enforcement?”

“I’m mainly amused how far gone you get without decent sleep,” she admitted.  “Besides, it was a good party, and Sebestian’s best man Fadri asked me on a date.  He’s cute, and best of all, going back to Brașov in a week, so it’s super low pressure.  Now, if you’d been coherent enough to actually hurt them, or if you’d been laid low by something worse than an overly friendly foreign groom-to-be in electronic clothing… this conversation would be different.  Now, are you coming in here for your food, or am I bringing it to you?”

“I don’t feel hungry,” he said, aware he was pouting, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Too bad!” she sing-songed.  “I made your favorites, toast with organic butter and a drop of artisanal honey, plain unsweetened yogurt, half an orange already peeled, and one plain boiled egg.  You’ll eat before I leave.  I can see your ribs Matt.”

“I don’t believe you,” he croaked as he padded into the kitchen to stop her from getting crumbs on his bed.  “I smell something much worse.”

“Just because I make you the most boring breakfast known to man doesn’t mean I can’t eat something with actual flavors.  I made Shut-Up-And-Eat for myself, since your fridge is depressing and I know you won’t go shopping again unless you run out of food.”

Matt snorted.  She wasn’t wrong, exactly, but he knew she was also teasing him and it seemed right to give her a response of some kind.  “No wonder it smells like a dumpster.”

“Not my fault you had leftover Chinese food in your fridge.  Why _ did _ you have that?  You hate leftovers.”

“It’s for Foggy,” Matt told her as he sat and edged the tray closer.  “He likes ordering take-out and eating here, and I don’t want to tell him to take the boxes with him when he leaves.  He agrees with you I should keep more food in the house, and he thinks he’s cleverly adding to my food supply.  I didn’t have the heart to explain the shopping thing, not after how he reacted to the non-ADA compliant elevators at our internship, and the plain print syllabus, and the hundred other minor annoyances of being blind.”

“Ah.  If you’d like, I can get groceries for you today.  I need to go out and about anyway, May’s got me doing advanced counter surveillance this week, which means live runs, her camera versus my stealth.  Make a list and text it to me.”

“Thanks,” he said.  After swallowing a bite of food he blinked.  “This is good.”

“I did learn _ some _ moderately mature skills when I left home.  I also totally raided Barton’s stash of specialty honey when we last stopped by the Hub.  He collects it and has some of the best apiarists in the world on his speed-dial.  That’s a Georgia Tupelo and White Clover honey.  It’s supposed to be good for people who dislike strong flavors and granulation.  I called in for you, by the way, I explained to Karen that our sibling night out ended with you moderately incapacitated by the party, and you’re good to stay home today.  Rest, Matt, I mean it.”

“I have a brand new law firm to keep open, Skye…”

“And you have a mild concussion from when you fainted, and your integration disorder is playing up again unless you stopped liking boiled eggs in the past decade or so.  You’re in no shape to run a law firm right now.  Rest, let your friends take care of you.  Besides, you have shit advertising, the odds of anyone walking in are low.  I’ve got to go, now, if I hide inside, May makes me re-do it with extra followers.”

“I’m not sure I like that woman,” Matt said, following Skye to the door.  “She works you too hard.”

“She works me as hard as I need her to,” his sister said quietly.  “I know what you’re afraid of, but May isn’t like... him.  She really is just teaching me.  She’s stern sure, and a bit of a stone cold bitch, but not… not like _ that _ .  She’s saved my life so many times, and I’ve saved hers, and she respects my skills.  She might not think I have the interpersonal awareness of a hamster, but I don’t think she has the emotional range of a teaspoon, so we’re even.”

“Alright, be safe.  I’ll text you the grocery list,” Matt sighed, dropping a brief kiss to her hair and noting that she used his shampoo.  Thoughtful of her not to add new scents to his home.

<^>

Foggy pinched the bridge of his nose as he squinted at his office.  Far from being his castle, kingdom, ship or other old-timey metaphor, this venture was rapidly turning into his own private quagmire.  He’d volunteered to handle the financials because Matt’s unflagging enthusiasm for doing the right thing was important.  Too important to risk on things like electrical bills that piled up and taunted Foggy with red ink, or the people who sent them who wouldn’t print out Braille copies for Matt.

That didn’t mean Foggy liked them either.

He particularly didn’t like feeling that he was the only one taking their financial difficulties seriously, especially since he knew why Matt didn’t mention the bills that often, as Foggy was the one who banned Matt from trying to figure them out.  However, when the firm was sitting in the red and they were being paid in secretarial skills and Matt’s sister called in to tell their secretary the second half of Nelson and Murdock was sleeping off a hangover… Foggy got nervous.  He felt for Matt’s issues, he did.  He even could empathize with getting a bit out of hand celebrating with family he hadn’t seen in years.  That did not shake his persistent itch about the money.  It was getting to the point he was considering going back to Brett, despite the enmity, when the Dame walked in.

He called her that in his head because it was almost exactly like a scene in a film noir detective story, when the dangerous and beautiful woman comes to beg for help.  Her suit was a flawless creation of navy blue.  Her dark waves suggested a stylist without admitting to one.  He noticed her low heels had the red soles from the expensive brand his mother liked.  Money on the hoof, and thank God Matt wasn’t here or this would go so badly.  He stood and steeled himself for his first deal with the Devil.

“Welcome to Nelson and Murdock, how can I assist you Miss…?”

“Lewis.  I’m stopping by to ask if you’d be available for retainer.  It’s not that I don’t like the lawyer they set up for us, it’s just that Hogarth is a shark in a designer suit.  A very nice shark, but still a shark.”

“Well, a retainer could be arranged, I’m sure…  What sort of legal matters do you foresee needing Nelson and Murdock to represent you in?  Our firm is rather particular about who we defend.”

“Mostly when my impossible husband gets arrested during protests, he needs to have someone to call for the bail hearing.  He’s a shit who gets way too mad to represent his causes well, but his heart is in the right place.”

Foggy almost laughed, that description was so like Matt.  He felt for Mrs. Lewis.

“I’m sure we can take Mr. Lewis’s case if and when such a thing comes up.  However, I’m sure you’re aware, a retainer is a bit more of an investment than a case-by-case type thing.  We should talk prices,” he said, then gestured to his chair for clients.  “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, I’ve been on my feet all day.  We’re planning a bit of a blow-out for Steve’s thirtieth, and trust me, the advance planning is a nightmare.”

They talked prices, and Foggy heaved an internal sigh of relief at the fact that money didn’t seem to be an issue.  The Lewis retainer wouldn’t make them rich, or even mean they could go a full month with no new clients, but it would take the strain off.  He at least had the class to wait until she was out of the office to kiss the check, but it was a close thing.

“Oh, sweet, sweet, financial safety net, how I love you,” he sighed.

“Foggy?” Karen asked from outside his office door.  “You do know I can hear you, right?”

“Sorry.  But, hey, this is good for us.  And by us, I mostly mean Matt and myself, but also for you.  We can afford our own tea, now.  Isn’t that great?”

He smiled at her laughter.  The old Nelson charm does it again.

<^>

Skye stepped into the office and pulled the itchy blonde wig off.  She was reasonably certain that it had bought her five un-surveilled minutes, which was totally worth it, but it trapped heat and sweat like nothing else.  She ran a hand through her own hair to puff it back up from the wig-head, and set her reusable shopping bag down on a card table.

“Hey Trip, hey Fitz.  Where’s Jemma?”

“Simmons is getting her standard call from the folks,” Trip replied without looking up from his catalog.  He spent more on fashion than all the ladies of the team combined.  Which probably said more about Skye’s tee shirt collection and Jemma’s fondness for thrift stores than his own fashion sense, but still.  “Her dad’s pissed about her career again.  I don’t know why she told them she’s a corporate party planner, it’s asking for trouble.”

“Not all of us are Legacy kids,” Fitz said defensively.  “Jemma’s parents don’t have the clearance to know she works for SHIELD.”

“But couldn’t she have picked something that actually uses her degree?” Trip countered.

“Not enough explanation of her travel,” Fitz said into a hologram of some complex machine.

“I could fake up a World Health Organization job,” Skye offered as she pulled out boxes of organic fruit.  If she rinsed them and re-packed them in evidence bags, the plastic-y taste Matt hated should be lessened.  Her evidence kit was 100% off-gassing free.  “They travel all the time to look into new diseases and formulate treatments and stuff.  It’s prestigious without the need to do lectures, has built in travel excuses and emergency excuses, and it uses a biochem degree.”

“Would you?” Jemma asked gratefully as she came in and collapsed on her office chair.  “I love my Dad, and my Mum, but they can be so… they want the best for me, they just have a narrow idea of what that best  _ is. _ ”

“Sure thing,” Skye said, finishing the rinse as May came in.  “So… how’d I do?”

“I’m not sure how you lost me in the Garment district.  I didn’t pick you up again until you came back in from Chelsea.”

Skye smiled smugly.  “You forgot the number one rule of Korea Way, May.  Your Mom would be so disappointed to know I lost you  _ there _ .”

May’s face twisted.  “You ditched me by buttering up a restaurant mom.  That’s underhanded, Skye.”

“Yes, and?”

“Good work.  It won’t work again.”

Skye fist-pumped.  “Alright!  With this, I am off the clock except in case of emergency calls.  Later,” she called, grabbing her bag and resisting the urge to skip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Shut-Up-And-Eat: also called Kitchen Sink food, evrything that might need to be eaten son, thrown in a pan and cooked.  
> Apiarists: bee-keepers.  
> Blow-out: big party  
> Wig-head: like bed head from a wig, also called wig hair.  
> Off-gassing: the scent/smell of plastics.  
> Korea Way: a street in Koreatown, a section of the Garment District in Manhattan.
> 
> Notes:  
> I have known Eastern European men who own iPod speaker hoodies, it's super weird and they were almost always a bit drunk. I think it's a subculture thing within Eastern Europe. I could see Sebestian and Fadri from my school doing this shit.
> 
> Matt eats plain food because his taste buds are insane. So for the same reasons a mild breakfast like this is good, Skye's breakfast would suck for him as bad as his would for her, on opposite ends.
> 
> There are lots of things that blind people run into that are annoying, and almost all of them should be made accessable in America because of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) but some are only if you ask. Grocery stores for instance, sell food in boxes without Braille. Imagine shopping at your local market with your eyes shut. No wonder Matt's fridge is depressing.
> 
> Tupelo and White Clover honeys are known for being smooth, resisting granulation, and not having a strong flavor. Perfect for Matt. Skye totally figured this out and stole it as a future make-up-gift.
> 
> Matt in my world has Sensory Integration Disorder. It can leave him unable to function well, and he'll ignore it whenever he can, but Skye knows this and helps him do what he needs to, and rest.
> 
> Skye is referring to Stick's training when she says May "isn't like that" meaning not abusive. There are differences between abusive teaching and stern teaching, but after trauma one can look a lot like the other.
> 
> Darcy is wearing Louboutin shoes. She looks super rich, but it's mostly having been with Pepper for stuff earlier. She also totally knows which lawyer this is, this isn't random.
> 
> In the comics, Jemma uses 'corporate party planner' as her cover with her parents, who are less than thrilled by that. Trip is a Legacy, so his folks are read in already.
> 
> Korean moms who own restaurants may be different in New York, but in my home town they will totally adopt you on the spot if you are studying in the restaurant. The back booth of my local Dim Sum place is super private and reserved for students, a thing Skye could fake but May would have a harder time doing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt enjoys life with Skye back in it, but old habits are hard to break...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To quadrad, Shadows_of_Shemai, hafizatulsufiahyaacob, nemohana, Selene_Aduial, Readertee, MarauderHeir, ValkyriePhoenix, SionnachOiche3, hhhellcat, Tsita, and the 7 new kudo-ers.

Matt enjoyed taking the day off to recover, and by that evening felt ready to take on his night job.  Skye was less convinced he’d gotten over his symptoms.

“Matt, it’s been less than twenty four hours since you got a concussion.  Multiple head wounds are dangerous.  I don’t want you getting shaken baby syndrome at age 30.  That’s just sad.”

“Skye,” he sighed.  “You know me better than that.  Besides, we never found that kidnapped boy.”

“You aren’t alone anymore Matt,” she insisted.  “I’m not alone anymore.  What do you think my team did while you were in bed today?  FitzSimmons had the DWARFs roving the scene, following leads.  Trip did some door to door, and AC was calling Russia to help narrow down which Russian gangsters we may be dealing with.  It’s cool.”

Matt wished he could stare incredulously.  Reaching out, he pushed hair back from her face, enjoying the silk-like slide of the strands.  “You’re amazing, sister-mine.”

“Flattery gets you everything,” she chirped, leaning into the touch.  “Except permission to get hurt again.  If you’re that masochistic, there are professionals that will beat the crap out of you safely and with medical equipment on standby.  Say the word and I’ll call someone named Mistress Leather or Master Spanks, but you aren’t letting two-bit thugs hit you tonight.”

Groaning softly in response to her joke, Matt shoved lightly at her arm.  “No fair.  I’m older, shouldn’t I be the one warning you not to do dangerous things?”

His sister moved to hug him and Matt reflected on how damaged they were.  Two broken children, stubbornly clinging to whatever could keep their heads above water, be that a purpose, a mentor, or each other.  “It’s okay,” he said into the soft clouds of her hair.  “I won’t go.  Tonight, anyway.”

“Good,” she said into his collarbone.  “I don’t want to lose you, and you were being far too reckless.”

“Not gonna lose me, Quake.  I’m right here.”

The next morning, Matt woke up to the smell of fresh fruit being cut.  Bright explosions of citrus called him out of his bed and into his kitchen.  Skye pressed a mug into his hand and he drank gratefully of the strong brew.  Knowing she tended to wake on her own schedule, he sat quietly while she prepped their food.  He tried to guess what she was making from the smells and sounds, but it was confusing, since she wasn’t using a recipe he knew, and the smells mixed together.  Citrus of some kind, similar to oranges, something fried in olive oil, coconut, ketchup, chocolate, berries, and yogurt were all present.

“Okay…  We have fruit salad with clementines, blackberries, blueberries and strawberries in a coconut milk sauce,” she declared, placing the dish with a clinking sound at his left.  “Lightly fried shoestring potatoes, all-natural ketchup from a hipster in Chelsea in the little sauce dish at the ten.  Unsweetened yogurt with super dark chocolate shavings on your right.”

“This is… you realize I’m not going to throw you out if you don’t make me a gourmet meal every morning, right?” he asked, a bit overwhelmed by her efforts.  “I usually just eat some yogurt and maybe some oatmeal with fruit.  I’m not as picky now as I used to be.  I’ll even eat street meat if I have to.”

“One, who said this was about you, Mister Ego?” she asked, counting off by laying her fingers on his hand so he could keep track with her.  “I can like cooking for my own sake.  It’s fun and I find it relaxing.  Two, just because you usually do something does not make it good for you, and I can, as I said before, see your ribs.  You’ll be eating better while I’m here.  You aren’t my only brother with issues about food, and I’m stubborn.  Last but not least, three, you were never ‘picky’, Matt.”  He could hear the eye-roll and implied air quotes in her voice.  “You have a legit sensory processing disorder and there are things you shouldn’t be trying to stick in your mouth.  I’m fairly sure even people who can’t smell individual preservatives shouldn’t be eating street meat, and the only part of that entire sentence that doesn’t make me cringe is you qualified it with ‘if I have to’ which means you aren’t subjecting yourself to torture regularly.  So eat your damn health food, Matt.”

“You got scary at some point,” he complained, but there was no heat in it and he scooped up a forkful of potato to dip in ketchup.

“I was always scary, you were just too much of an angst muffin to notice,” she replied primly.

<^>

Foggy had to hand it to Skye Barnes, she actually made Matt happy.  Not fake ‘I should probably enjoy this’ happy, or even worse ‘I do enjoy this but have convinced myself it’s morally wrong’ happy, but actual, unencumbered happiness.  Matt was finally smiling again, after years spent moping along through the cut-throat waters of corporate law, and Foggy didn’t think it had to do with the firm.

“So, you and the sis had a bit of a rumble, I hear,” he joked, and Matt froze for a fraction of a second.  Foggy wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been Matt’s best friend for ages.

“Um, about that…” Matt began, and that was never a good sign.  “What did she tell you happened?”

“You guys went out to celebrate finding each other after all these years, ended up hanging out with some dudes who partied pretty hard, and you over extended yourself, hence sick day.  If this is a guilt thing, no.  I veto a guilt thing in the office.  Miss Page, take a note, Matthew Michael Murdock is hereby banned from any and all interpersonal guilt things while on Nelson and Murdock property.”

Matt laughed.  God it was good to see that sunshine again.  Foggy had resolved his hopeless crush years ago when it became clear Matt wasn’t interested in that sort of thing with him, but he still loved the crap out of his Matty-boy’s face.  Especially when he laughed or smiled.

“Foggy, relax, it’s not a quote unquote guilt thing.  I have zero memories of that night and Skye’s story keeps shifting.  I’m trying to figure out how many of the embarrassing things she said happened, actually happened, and which ones are just her teasing me.”

“Oh, well, can’t help you there.  She did warn me you hit your head, but she thought you were okay.  I’m glad she told me.  Concussions are bad enough when you can watch for pupil dilation.”

Matt did his little ‘what can you do?’ shrug, the same he used when he had to ask someone else to find his floor on an elevator or have Foggy read his mail to him.  Foggy wasn’t ever going to tell him, too much cultural history of ableism around it, but the ease with which Matt accepted those things was kinda inspiring.  Because he had yet to murder anyone, not because he learned to function as a lawyer in spite of it.  Matt was too stubborn for anything to stand in his way.

“So we had one walk in while you were out,” he said, moving the topic on.  “A simple reserve to hire for the next year, lady’s husband is an activist who sometimes gets arrested.  She said he’s not violent during the protests, but he’s ex-military and his presence can be threatening if you don’t know him.  It’s mainly going to be ACLU stuff, if they even need us.  They have a lawyer for other stuff, I think she’s got a really good job, because she said her reason for needing a new lawyer just for him is that he’d prefer someone less selachian than Jerry Hogarth.”

Matt shuddered.  “Ugh, Hogarth gives me the creeps.  If we ever take a case against her, I need you to be main.  I’ll take any and all cases against your ex girlfriend, but don’t make me head a case against Hogarth.  I’m not sure she’s human, she’s so mechanical seeming.  And she’s too quiet, I can’t get a good read on her unless she’s talking.”

“Hey, buddy, if you take Marci on, I’ll happily face Jerry in hypothetical court.  I don’t ever wonder if Jerry’s wearing the blue underwear, so less problems for me there.  God, we’re good partners.”

They laughed and settled in to the day.  Karen brought them take-out from a Mexican place and she and Matt talked in Spanish for a while before Foggy cracked the avocado joke and Matt fell out of his chair laughing.  Matt left early, saying he wanted to spend some more time with Skye.  He mentioned going to a late Mass and Foggy cursed under his breath.

“I’m sorry Matt, I should have kept track, today’s Sunday, isn’t it?  And you came in because you had to stay home yesterday and I didn’t shoo you off to be a good Catholic and rest on the sabbath.”

“Foggy, it’s not like we actually did any work.  I think God will forgive me for eating tamales with friends instead of going to the main service.  I hate the incense anyway, and candle smoke can really do a number on blind eyes.  Dry eye syndrome, you know.”

“Oh, whew.  I thought I’d fucked up your religious schedule and I do not need you self flagellating any more than you already do.”

Matt grinned and chucked a wadded up paper napkin in Foggy’s general direction.  After he left, Foggy typed up possible ads for the paper, looked into getting a bigger yellow pages ad, and wrote a strongly worded letter to the head of a local business website for demanding that Nelson and Murdock have been in business for a year before putting them up to be rated.

A few hours later, Matt’s sister showed up.

“Hey, is Matt in a meeting or something?  He’s not answering his cell.”

Foggy froze.  Uh oh.  Matt Murdock and a pretty but morally ambiguous girl were in the same room at the same time, and now, Foggy Nelson was gonna suffer.  “No, he said he was going to go to church,” Foggy said, trying to walk the line of truth and what Matt would want her to know.  “He left after lunch, maybe one.”

Skye narrowed her eyes.  “That’s not all he said, was it?”

“He may have said he wanted to see if you’d like to go to a late Mass with him?”

“Does he still use Sacred Heart?”

“Yes, with Lantom, he likes the man’s confession style, whatever that means.  Look, he probably just decided that with your new laissez faire religious attitude, you’d prefer to skip the church thing.”

“Except Sacred Heart doesn’t do an afternoon sunday Mass.  I checked, in case Matt still went there and wanted to go.  They have a 9:30 Family Mass in English, a Spanish Mass at 11, and another English Mass at 12:30.  There is no church thing, that little shit.  I swear, if he’s not already dead when I find him….”

“I’ll defend you in criminal court should Matt turn up dead, but I can’t hear you say you’ll do it,” Foggy interrupted.  Skye laughed grimly.

“Thanks, I’ll call if I need bail.”

<^>

Skye’s heart pounded furiously as she took the stairs to the HQ two at a time.  Opening the door with a practiced half-slam that caught the eye but made almost no sound outside the room, she snarled at the monitor with the tracker on it.

“Trip, get me a gun.  Or Natasha, I’m not picky.”

“Woah there, Rolling Thunder,” he said soothingly, although she wasn’t in a mood to be soothed.  “Who’s on your ‘needs to die’ list now, and what did they do?”

“My brother used me as a cover story to go punch and be punched by bad guys.  He used his _church_ as a cover story.  I may not be Catholic anymore, but he is and that crosses a  _ line _ .  I am going to murder him, resurrect him, and then murder him again.  We can do that, we have the wonky Guest House crap.”

“Skye,” Coulson chided gently.  “The Guest House serum isn’t stable.  You know that, I gave you the full reports on it after Quin shot you and we had to use it.  We’re not allowed to use it on civilians.  You get one murder per person.  I don’t think you really want him dead anyway.”

“Fine,” Skye sighed.  “But I reserve the right to make him feel like crap for doing this.  Who wants to help me haul his ass out of the fire?  Again, I mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Shaken baby syndrome: a form of multiple-concussion injury found in infants.  
> DWARFs: robots made by Fitz and Simmons to gather evidence.  
> AC: Skye's nick name for Agent Coulson.  
> At the ten: at the place on the dish that would be ten on a clock if noon is directly across from you.  
> Street meat: food from street vendors, like hot-dogs or tacos. It's fairly notorious for skirting food safety.  
> Rumble: can be slang for either a fight, or a really crazy party.  
> ACLU: the American Civil Liberties Union, they do things like take cases against the state pro-bono during unlawful arrest suits, and defend people in court if said unlawful arrest gets to court. Matt's dream job, basically.  
> Selachian: shark-like.
> 
> Notes:  
> Skye is right, there are professional Doms who get paid to hurt their clients safely, with medical equipment on standby in case anything goes wrong. It's not super accepted, and if Matt thought for a second this was anything but glib, he may freak out, but they do exist.
> 
> The Chelsea Market is home to a lot of artisanal, organic, and otherwise hipster food stores.
> 
> Matt has canon issues accepting things that make him happy. He's kinda messed up, but Foggy is glad he's not trying to shove away happiness.
> 
> Foggy is at least partially bisexual and harbored a raging crush on Matt in college, but Matt knew and let him down easy without knowing he was being let down easy.
> 
> People with disabilities have a looong history of being called "inspirational" for continuing to exist. It's creepy and gross and we don't like it, so Foggy would never ever say that, but he does find Matt inspirational. Just not for the usual reason.
> 
> Jerry Hogarth is a character introduced in the Jessica Jones series, a high powered lesbian lawyer who resembles nothing so much as a shark in a suit. I headcanon she has the same practically nil resting heart rate as May, and thus scares Matt. Marci is Foggy's ex, also a shark.
> 
> The avocado joke dates back to Foggy and Matt's graduation, when a spectacularly drunk Foggy tried to say "great lawyers" in Spanish and instead said "Muy Grande Avocados" which caused a spectacularly drunk Matt to die laughing.
> 
> Blindness has high co-morbidity with several things I think Matt has, including: dry eye syndrome, non-24 sleep cycle disorder, and an increase in reliance on the vestibular system to maintain balance. 
> 
> Sacred Heart of Jesus is a Catholic church in Hell's Kitchen, the outside of which is definitely the one in the show, even though the show doesn't name it. I looked up their service schedule, and Skye reports what I found there.
> 
> Skye was still shot by Ian Quin in this verse, she was also still resuscitated using the Guest House serum. Mainly because Fury wasn't willing to risk Bucky's sister dying because he'd go Soldier over that.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Soon, Skye would track him down using scary, how-is-this-legal connections, and probably chew him out, outing his situation.


	9. Claire Temple Does Not Get Paid For This Shit (The Cut Man Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To ValkyriePhoenix, angelofheaven, Shadows_of_Shemai, ClockWeasel, MarauderHeir, Selene_Aduial, SionnachOiche3, and the 2 new kudo-ers.

Matt groaned into the echoing space.  The thick scents of old food and baby diapers clogged his air and the sound of his labored breathing bounced off metal at odd, tinnitus inducing angles.  Fuck.  A dumpster.

Fortunately, the pain was enough to pull his mind under soothing waves of numbness as he fell into the silent abyss of sleep.

He woke slightly when he was moved, enough to mumble at the hands firmly gripping him to move him.  The cool floor was heavenly, and he sunk back under the soft waves of unconsciousness.

The next time Matt woke up, a woman was calling someone on a phone.  He snapped out an arm to stop her.  It was too dangerous.

“We have to get you to a hospital,” she insisted.  He suppressed a shudder at that idea, and vetoed it on safety grounds.  The men chasing him were killers, they’d think nothing of mowing down some doctors to make him stop beating up their muscle and freeing their captives.  Of course, standing was an exercise in biting back pain and a snappish ‘you think?’ when she said he may have been stabbed.  And he headed the wrong way, his impressionist world turning surrealist.  He felt the fall coming, but couldn’t stop it.

He came to on the couch, presumably because she decided he wouldn’t likely need CPR.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” her warm, slightly amused voice asked.  He felt like she probably had a nice smile, and intimidating eyes.  It was all guess work, faces were too hard unless he added touch, but he liked the game of it.

“Where am I?” he asked, still sort of disoriented.

“In my apartment,” she said.

“Who are you?” he followed up, hoping to keep her on the defensive and not asking him anything.

“I’m the lucky girl who pulled you out of the garbage,” she snarked, and oh God, Matt was done for.  He furrowed his brow and realized that there was no drag from his mask.

“You’ve seen my face,” he said, not asking, just stating, his hands going up to uselessly check the fact.

“Yeah, and your outfit kinda sucks by the way.”

“My sister says so too,” he grunted as he tried to sit up.

“Okay, you really shouldn’t try to move too much,” she warned him, gentle hands pushing him back.  “You’ve got two or three broken ribs, probable concussion, some kind of puncture wound, and that’s just the stuff that I know about.  And your eyes?  They are non-responsive to light, which isn’t freaking you the hell out, so you’re either blind, or in way worse shape than I thought.”

“Do I have to pick one?” Matt laughed grimly.  Skye was going to murder him.

“Do you mind telling me how a blind man in a mask ends up beaten half to death in my dumpster?” she demanded, and Matt sighed.  Soon, Skye would track him down using scary, how-is-this-legal connections, and probably chew him out, outing his situation.

“Most people, they find a bleeding masked man in the garbage, they call the police,” he noted, not answering yet.

“You got a lot of experience in this area?” she half demanded and half asked.

“Not garbage, not yet anyway.  What’s your name?”

She sighed, obviously contemplating lying, or refusing to tell him.  After a long beat, she said “Claire” and her heartbeat told him she was honest.  “Don’t suppose I get to know yours?”   He hesitated, more out of instinct than anything.  He must have looked shifty or dishonest, because she sighed in frustration.  “Fine, I’ll call you Mike.”

“Mike?” he asked in confusion.

“Yeah, a guy I used to date.  Turns out he was very good at keeping secrets, too.”  Matt felt his heart lurch for her, the tired, resigned way she said it.

“Thank you, Claire,” he mumbled, reaching for her hand.

“Rest,” she told him, and Skye would have agreed with her.  He could almost hear his sister chiding him.  “Make sure you’re stabilized.  We’ll figure the other stuff out later.”

<^>

Claire rubbed her eyes as she watched the masked man, her Mike, sleeping on the old couch.   Why had she done this?  Why had she decided that a nurse, even a very good one, was capable of handling this?  It’s not like she couldn’t call an ambulance for him.  Regardless of if he wanted it, he needed proper medical care.  She’d done the same when Santino’s grandmother had a stroke last year, and lord knew that old bat hadn’t wanted to go.

“What am I gonna do with you?” she asked his unconscious body.  Without warning, he bucked, gasping and working his mouth like a fish on a hook.  “Shit!”  Her whole being narrowed down to hands and eyes, diagnosing the issue, coming up with a plan.  She was vaguely aware she was talking, saying soothing platitudes or explaining her actions, but she wasn’t thinking about it.  She didn’t have to, she was a damn good nurse and calming down patients was a job requirement.  Re-equalizing the pressure in his chest with a needle letting out air in a shrill parody of a bike tire going flat… was also a job requirement, she told herself firmly.

After he stopped bleeding air into his body, and started breathing normally, she sat back on her knees, emotionally and physically exhausted.

“Okay, let’s say for the sake of discussion that I buy into this whole “we can’t go to the hospital because whatever” story you’ve got going on.  But we need to talk about what happens if you give up the ghost here in my living room.  Because I’m listening to myself explain to the police how i let this happen, and every version ends with me in handcuffs.  So convince me it’s worth it.”  Part of her, the part that held the hands of girls as they received rape kits and bandaged the split lips of children, the part that crowed in glee when yet another father of a ‘clumsy’ kid or ‘klutzy’ wife showed up on a respirator while their victim suddenly stopped falling down stairs, wanted to say “convince me you’re worth it.”

He laughed grimly, not inspiring.  “You wouldn’t be talking to the police.  You’d be talking to my sister, and I think she’d forgive you.  She knows I’m an idiot, right Quake?”

Claire started to throw up her hands and confirm she was becoming her mother, when a voice from her front door startled her.

“Yes you are, and you will apologize in full, but right now, you are getting medical care you selfish ass.  You used me, you used _Mass_ , as a cover because you can’t fess up to your best friend that you’re a justice dispensing jackass in a Princess Bride cosplay.  I’m getting you microchipped.  Like a _dog_ , I will microchip your ass.”

Claire blinked at the angry young woman holding a gun out and down as she berated Mike.  A second gun distorted the leather jacket she wore and a shiny silver eagle badge punctuated her belt, making her the very image of an officer of the law.  They looked nothing alike, but nobody got that angry at anyone outside family.  “I did what I could, but I’m just a nurse and I don’t keep a full kit here,” she defended.  Family could get… complicated.

“Eh,” the girl dismissed.  “He’s not dead yet.  Can you provide stabilizing care while I get the medivac here?”

“Yes,” Claire agreed.  “Do you know why he’s… well…”

“A vigilante?  Because he’s a hypocrite who doesn’t like paperwork.  In your apartment?  I’m betting it had to do with the kid that got nabbed.  You gonna weigh in Man in Black?”

“I tracked the Russians to a warehouse.  I thought I was being smart, how fast I found them without you, or the… the things you do.  But…”

“Holy Admiral Akbar, Batman,” she drawled.

“Yeah, it was a trap.”

“Wait,” Clair said, shaking her head in hopes it would clear up this little psychodrama playing out like a soap opera she’d missed a week of.  “They took this kid _just_ to get to you?”

“I’ve been making their lives… difficult, lately,” he said modestly.  His sister snorted.

“And this is what you do?” she asked.  “You, a blind man, make life difficult for bad men?”

“That’s one way to put it,” his sister groused, moving to sit on the floor by his head.

“No offence, but you don’t seem to be very good at it.”

“It’s been an off night,” he muttered.  His sister breathed out hard and it sounded like words that Claire couldn’t hear.  “Yes, Quake, I’m aware I was a careless idiot.”

“These men, that took the child, they’re out there, right now?  Looking for you?” Claire asked, finally seeing the puzzle fall into place.

“Not out there…” he said, face pale in the low light.

<^>

Mother fuck, Skye hissed sub-vocally.  Her old trick for talking to Matt had become quite useful for looking composed when she wanted to cuss.  “Where?” she asked just above the normal threshold.

“In the building, going door to door.  Third floor, he smells like Prima cigarettes and discount cologne.”

“You can smell a man on the third floor?” their unwitting host asked incredulously.

“You’ll smell him soon enough,” her brother snarked.  “He really likes that cologne.”  He grunted and Skye looped an arm under his back to help him stand.  It might not save them, but she wasn’t leaving Matt alone.  “She’s looking at us like we’re crazy, isn’t she?”

“That seems like the correct response,” the poor nurse who'd been dragged into this defended.

“There are things we haven’t told you, Claire,” Matt started, but their host, Claire, stopped him.

“You people haven’t told me anything!  All I know is Growly McStubborn here can take a beating.”

“I got that part from my dad,” Matt started.

“No, none of that, you grieve after you survive,” Skye scolded.  “Help me get you to the kitchen.  I’m sorry for my brother, Claire, I’d say he was raised by wolves, but we were raised by nuns, and unlike _ some _ people, I actually respect that.”

Claire moved to the door, out of sight, and Skye breathed shallowly, forcing her heart rate to stay in Matt’s range, her instincts fighting to silence it.  The sound of the knock struck her like a blow.  Claire now held their lives in her hands as she opened the door and a “Detective Foster” of the “65th precinct” asked questions about a masked man and an armed robbery at a bodega.  Claire lied her ass off, and Skye relaxed a fraction.

“Boy were you right about that cologne, what, does he bathe himself in that crap?” the nurse asked after.  Skye saw the jitters coming up and nudged Matt as he opened his mouth.

“Thanks for your help, Claire.  We’ll be getting out of your way now.  Won’t we, Matt?”

Matt nodded meekly, but that gave up the game.

“What’s going on here?” Claire demanded.  Skye glared at her brother and quieted the blood rushing through her ears in fear.

“He didn’t believe you,” Matt said.  Skye helped him sit and stepped out, followed by Claire.

“What are you doing?  Is that a gun?  Are you seriously going to….” the puff of the night-night gun cut her off.  Skye watched the Russian crumple on the stairs, before glancing up to lock eyes with a kid.

“It’s just a tranq,” she said, partly to the kid, partly to Claire, and partly to the bit of her that would never have been okay with how casually she reached for a sidearm as a solution.

“Santino?” Claire asked.  The softness seemed to break something in the boy, and tears threatened to fall as he bolted away from the stairs.  “He’s the one who found your brother in the alley.”

“Well, shit.  That would make him a target too.  Help me get that asshole on the roof, and I’ll handle Santino.”  Claire looked suspiciously at her.  “I mean like talk to him, jeez, I’m an agent, not a monster.”

Skye got the ass onto the roof with Claire’s help, and by the time that was done, AC, Trip and May had gotten to her.  Matt was refusing to be taken for medical care, though.  It was annoying and kinda sad how he disregarded his health.

“Okay, you agree to let a real doctor look at you, no offense Claire, right after questioning him, and I’ll let you stay here until we have the boy’s location,” she offered.  Claire was smirking into a hand behind his shoulder and gave Skye a thumbs up.

“Fine.  But I want you to let me do this part on my own.  I get… I become someone I don’t want you meeting, when I do this.  It’s why I never wanted this life for you.”

“Tough titties, Matt, I’m in this regardless of what you want.  I need to go talk to our witness anyway.  When I come back up, you better be ready for a doctor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Give up the ghost: die.  
> Tranq: tranquilizer, knock-out dart.
> 
> Notes:  
> I can only imagine that dumpster was a special kind of living hell for Matt. Like, I wouldn't want that I don't have super powers.
> 
> Many lines taken from the Netflix show, because Claire Temple is a goddess and I could not write her better.
> 
> The Impressionists were an art movement including Monet. Matt refers to his sense gestalt as an impressionist world on fire. The surrealists were an art movement including Picasso and Dali, which would be a world much harder to navigate.
> 
> Matt has a thing for competence and snark, I don't make the rules.
> 
> It's totally okay to call for medical care even if the person says they don't need it. Of course, like anything it can be used for bad reasons, like racking up the ambulance bills, but since many stroke and heart attack victims will insist they're fine until they collapse, it's a thing. Matt knows he's messed up, but has other reasons, Claire figured that was the case, but her brain is still doing the "what am I even?" thing.
> 
> Lots of ER work involves some bad shit, like doing a rape kit (taking evidence to use in assault cases, which can be re-victimizing and is not fun at all), or seeing what is obviously abuse being covered for.
> 
> Dogs can have microchips that help find them implanted under the skin. People who have dogs that are prone to wandering off will get it done since it reduces the number of lost dogs that stay lost.
> 
> Admiral Akbar was the fish guy in Star Wars that said "It's a trap!" and Holy __ Batman was the catch-phrase of Robin in the old Batman comics/tv show.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt interrogates a criminal, May re-evaluates her stance, and Skye enjoys a family outing (the bad guys do not enjoy her family outing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Shadows_of_Shemai, MarauderHeir, ValkyriePhoenix, quadrad, angelofheaven, Selene_Aduial, SionnachOiche3, and the 4 new kudo-ers.
> 
> My apologies this is so late, but I wanted to do a Santino section and he was fighting me. I may someday dump the rough that I did for that section in the OoBE work, but in the meantime, you get a May POV.
> 
> EDIT: Major thanks to reader Redone, who pointed out a bad sentence in the Russian sections, and helped me find a replacement. Big Kudos to them, guys, and remember, if I mess up a language, feel free to tell me, especially if you can suggest a better word or phrase.

Matt hated who he became when he let the devil out.  He hated the vicious curl of pleasure when a bone snapped under his fists, he hated the way his nerves lit up with excitement when the scent of someone else’s blood hit his nose.  He would have loved to just lock that away, except he also hated what he became when he tried that.  He was just too much of an all or nothing person.

So it was with great reluctance he let Claire take a place beside him in a white hoodie and mask that offered only the psychological benefits.  He’d tried to insist he could do this on his own, only to be shot down.  “I don’t care that you’re blind,” Agent May had said, the first thing she’d ever said he appreciated.  “I care that you’ve been beaten half to hell and you matter to Skye.  I’d say the same for Trip or Fitz or Jemma, you either need to go to medical, or you need to let a trained professional stay near you in case of collapse.  In this case, you do more good here.  They already fear you, let’s add to that.”

“I’m not sure they do fear me,” Matt pointed out.  “They got me pretty bad last time.”

“Pshht,” Jemma, the sweet British-voiced woman dismissed.  He guessed curly hair and blue eyes.  “You’re a walking polygraph who doesn’t stay dead, and that’s scary.  We’ll run the extra info you get and give you more data from downstairs, use it well.”

He let them get safely downstairs and turn on the tiny microphone disguised as trash before splashing water on “Detective Foster” to wake him.  In the chill of January, it was crueler than necessary, but it added to the heartless image.  He ran the man through several lies, threatened and hurt him, only to stop at a word from Claire.  He needed that leash, with the devil in him driving, but resented it too. 

Panic and fear curdled the air.  The sour tang of adrenaline and the harsh ammonia of the gangster wetting himself blended with the sharp pepper of stress sweat and the sweet copper musk of congealing blood.  Drops hit the pavement with tinkling chimes, lovely and clean sounding, despite the cause.  The Russian babbled out words that only part of Matt knew.  The sad part, the hurting part, the part that thought in terms of law, the part that refused to acknowledge that the law of this concrete jungle was simply “Don’t.  Not in my home.  Not in Hell’s Kitchen.”  More words came from downstairs, below him.  Those he listened for.

“He works for Anatoly and Vladimir Ranskahov.  His name is Semyon.”

“Where do Anatoly and Vladimir work from?” he demanded, and wrinkled his nose as the man evacuated his bowels from fear.  “Tell me, Semyon, and maybe I'll let you live.”

“So what?  You kill me, someone else will take my place.  As long as people are buying, we will be selling.”

Matt snarled in rage, and Claire couldn’t have stopped him this time, the need was too strong, too sharp and bright.  Fortunately, she didn’t.  A feral joy licked like flames at his heart when she suggested a nerve to attack.  Non-fatal, but agonizing.  Along the man’s eye, and Matt grinned at the amazing irony of the blind man doing a choppy ocular surgery at the guidance of a nurse.  She guided him with the exactness of one of Stick’s more subtle strikes, and the words of one who’d long since grown used to hospitals.  Matt knew them, because it was an eye, and he believed in ‘know thy enemy’ as a strategy.  The screaming hurt his ears, but he endured, and soon he felt the pulse beneath his fingers shift.  It was the edge of what the man could take, so Matt cut him down.  He held him over the edge of the roof, careful not to let the counter weight of his body shift too far.  A decent amount of snarling got an address, eleventh and forty-fourth.  Of course, he followed that info up with threats to the boy, and Matt felt the flare of violence warm his body.  Tossing him into the same dumpster from before was tempting, poetic almost, it probably wouldn’t kill him even, but Skye was downstairs.  Even with the devil out, Matt wouldn’t risk Skye’s happiness.

“You’re right,” he told the man.  “What you said a little while ago, that if I kill you, someone else takes your job?  I know this won’t save everyone.  I don’t do this to save everyone, I do this because I  _ enjoy _ it.  I have fun hurting scum like you.”  The man whimpered, a broken little sob.  “So quick question, Semyon.  Do I get to have more fun, or will you do a favor for me?”

“Da, da, chto-” he coughed.  “Chto ugodno.  Vse, chto vy khotite.”

“He’s agreeing,” said a voice downstairs.

“Go back to the Ranskahovs.  Take them a message.”  His mind spun, searching for the words that were the duty of his other self, the one who hated this necessary action.

“Tell them ‘ _Vdova ne lyubit tekh kto prodayut detey, a D'yavol ne lyubit ubiyts_ ’ and ask which they think will catch them first,” his sister supplied.  “Natasha won’t mind, not for this.”

He dutifully repeated the phrase, hoping he got it correct.  He assumed he did from the way his victim’s face went cool from the blood retreating.  He let his grip fall slack and walked away, focusing on the twin drums of Skye and Claire.

<^>

Melinda May would be the first to admit she wasn’t perfect.  She could misjudge people.  It didn’t happen often, but when it did, she owned it, and she’d been wrong about Murdock.  He cared for his sister, he cared for the people he said he was protecting, and he tried at least, to keep his soul while he did it.

Which is why when she heard the nurse question him for saying he enjoyed the hunt, May narrowed a look at the woman.  “He does enjoy it.  It’s not a shame or a sin to like taking out the trash.  He stops well before the line of becoming it himself, which is where you have to start to worry.”

“Agent May,” he acknowledged with a punch-drunk grin, “careful now.  I could almost think you like me.”

“I was wrong that you were a threat to Skye, that doesn’t make me your friend,” she told him warningly.

“Can we settle on ally, somewhere in the middle, then?” he asked.  She thought she caught a note of wistfulness in the tone.  “I won’t stop doing this, I can’t.  But I will stop doing it alone.  It’s been… impressed on me that doing certain things with no back-up will get me an early grave.  I don’t want to take her brother from her… I _can’t_ take her brother from her.”

May smiled, enough that Trip looked at her strangely.  “I can’t either,” she admitted.  “Allies, then.  I have paperwork for you.  Miss Temple, you’ll need to sign some forms as well.  Standard non-disclosure agreements.”

“Should I be asking for a lawyer?” she asked.  “And is my role in what happened going to put me in jail?”

“You won’t go to jail, the court would have to subpoena an international security agency to get the evidence,” Matt said absently as he ran his fingers over the electronic braille pad with the contract.  “And I’ve read their NDA’s, you’ll be fine unless they changed them.  Whoever does your paperwork is a genius.”

“Thank you,” Phil said, preening a bit.  “I love a good form.  Paperwork can save lives, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Matt agreed, nodding.  May tuned them out for a moment, focusing instead on Skye, who had come back from her talk with their underage witness a little bit shaken.

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll live.  I looked in a mirror, that’s all,” Skye explained.  May nodded.  The first time a new Agent saw how they would look to their previous self was always a little rattling.  She remembered her own mirror-moment like it was yesterday, it almost made her quit.  Skye was stronger than that, though.

She turned back to Temple.  “Do you have anywhere else you can stay for a while?  This apartment has been compromised, and we’ll have to post a guard for your home, but if we can move you we may be able to do this without a guard to follow you.”

“I’m cat-sitting for someone while she’s in Oklahoma… I could stay there for a few days.”

“Good, fill out this form as well and we’ll get that guard set up.  We’ll need a copy of your key, and a phone number to reach you at when we confirm the threat is neutralized.  Hopefully we can get out of your hair with minimal collateral damage to your life.”  May tried a reassuring smile, but it made Temple cagey.  “No more medical aid for masked vigilantes, promise.”

“What if I want to help?” the nurse asked.  “He can’t exactly go into an Urgent Care with this crap.”

“We have a fully functional medical facility, which he gets access to as a part of the recruitment benefits--”

“I didn’t mean the vigilante thing when I said ‘this crap’ Agent May,” Temple corrected.  “I meant his highly developed sensory processing disorder.  There is no way a guy who can smell cologne through walls and floors is going to willingly visit a place that smells like surgical disinfectant and gut-splatter.   _ I  _ don’t even like hospital smell, and I work there.”

“How do you know he has a disorder?” May asked curiously.  “He has super-powers, maybe he compensates.”

“Yeah,” the nurse scoffed.  “He’ll compensate himself into unconsciousness.  I had full and unimpeded access for several hours, during which time he only woke up when the sensory information near him was muted.  I tried everything to get him awake… nothing worked until my neighbor turned off his noisy-ass window unit.  Mike won’t do it, and I’d rather he have a first-aid responder he will use, than a full hospital he won’t.”

“I’ll give you a burner phone,” Skye said, slipping seamlessly into the discussion.  “He can call if he needs to, and I’ll load it with our contacts too, if you need supply refills.  I appreciate what you’re doing for him.  He’s a reckless idiot, but he’s my reckless idiot, you know?”

<^>

Skye sighed as she followed Matt into the restaurant’s basement.  Sadly, his charm had worked on Jemma and they'd gone from his check-up to the kidnapper's den.  “If you’re dead set on being here, at least even the odds,” she hissed under her breath.  Matt stopped and Skye fitted the high-density ear protection Fitz made for him.  They held out at least the sound of a launching jet at close range for normal ears, they should help with his, so she slapped a Pick-lock on the circuit breaker.  The pop caused a bright flare and her goggles temporarily darkened.  “Fitz, the auto-adjust feature is working great,” she muttered into her comm, while removing the headphones.  The dark hallway was even darker and the sounds of television cut out, only to be replaced by angry Russian curses.  Skye pressed a button to switch between ordinary night-vision and the infrared enhanced HUD.

Bad Guy One went down in surprise as Matt sucker-punched his neck.  Bad Guy Two followed him with an ICER round in his forehead.  Matt kicked the slightly more alert Bad Guy Three in his solar plexus, robbing him of air and Skye hammered her own blow home to the knee, dropping him in a longer-lasting fashion.  Neither spoke, they didn’t need to.  A few guns went off, but Skye made sure all the guns were aiming at Matt’s victims, while he kept dishing out swift, brutal (and from the screaming, painful) justice.

Eventually, the layout forced them to separate, and Skye ran merry hell around a guy the approximate size of Andre the Giant, before being lifted off her feet.

“Gonna fuck you up good, suka,” he said in a way he probably meant as menacing.

“Fuck you, mudak.  In my family, this is a goddamn game,” she replied, lifting her legs with her abs to wrap around his arm like a tree sloth, freeing her hands to snap open a shock disk under his arm.  He jerked like a wind-dancer and she rolled free, twisting her legs to dislocate his shoulder.  Someone screamed in another room and she brought her ICER up as she moved back towards Matt.  She didn’t need to, his last opponent hit the ground like a burlap sack full of steaks.

“The boy is behind that door,” he told her, and she looked at his injuries under a colder eye.  He’d probably traumatize the poor kid.  She breathed an agreement and picked the lock, this time with actual picks.

“Hey, buddy,” she started with.  “I know you’re scared.  But we’re here to help you.  Okay?”

The boy was curled in a corner, surrounded by filth and shivering in the cool damp.  His hair stuck limply to his head and the less said about the look on his face, the better.  His first word was pretty much lost, but his second was agreement.

“I’ve got someone here with me who’s been looking very hard for you,” Skye said with a glance out the door.  She was still maintaining distance, and planned to until he stopped showing immediate trauma reaction to her.  “He’s kinda scary looking, but he’s a big softy, I promise.  Are you going to be okay with him helping me get you to your dad?  I can call a friend who’s not a man, if you need me to.  Although all my female friends are also pretty scary, except Jemma.  I’m not calling Jemma, she’d cry if she saw this place.  I hate when she cries.”  She was rambling at that point and knew it, but the giggle was a good sign.

“I hate when Carmen from school cries too, she’s too nice to be crying.”

“Exactly.  If you want, I can take you to see my friend who’s too nice to be crying after we get your dad.  She’s a doctor, in case you’ve been hurt more than a bandaid can fix.”

“Maybe.  Will you carry me?”

“I’ll certainly try,” Skye promised and moved to pick him up.  When she got to the door again, Matt had found a flashlight and was shining it unhelpfully at the edge of wall and floor.  “Can we trade?  He’s a growing boy and I still remember the last time I let you hold the light.”

“I told you it was an accident, and I’m injured, be nice” Matt sighed, but he took the little clinging bundle, who went willingly enough.

“Nah, don’t wanna,” Skye teased.  They kept the non-specific and light banter up all the way to the street, where Trip had parked the van.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> (Russian)  
> Da, da, chto ugodno. Vse, chto vy khotite: Yes, yes, anything. Everything you want.  
> Vdova ne lyubit tekh kto prodayut detey, a D'yavol ne lyubit ubiyts: The Widow does not like those who sell children, and the Devil does not like murderers.  
> Suka: Bitch.  
> Mudak: Asshole.  
> (Regular)  
> Gut-splatter: medical slang for anything that comes from the gut, either via vomiting, defecation, or a gut wound.  
> Wind-dancer: Those freaky wind-sock people things from outside used car lots all across the Midwest, and possibly else where, their motion is jerky and uncoordinated.
> 
> Notes:  
> Matt doesn't really have a dissociation disorder, nor does he really have a multiples system. He uses language that is very close to that, mainly because he has difficulty reconciling Matt Murdock, Attorney with Daredevil. His identity is very dual, and this can upset him.
> 
> Being blind, there are about a million things that can go very very wrong with eyes. Mostly because the early warning sign for a large number of them is loss of vision, and if you've already got no light perception, you can't catch it in time to fix it. Not all blind people do research all the possible ways eyes can screw them, but I think Matt would.
> 
> Skye is moderately fluent in Russian, due to long exposure to Nat, Bucky, and any number of agents who also speak it. Phil also speaks Russian, because he was Nat's handler.
> 
> In my version, Matt has a fairly bad case of sensory integration disorder due to the human brain not being made for 4 out of 5 senses being set to 110% efficacy. This displays in ways that affect Matt's health, which Claire would notice, being a nurse, but not in ways May could see right away.
> 
> Skye learned Play-Dangle from Bucky, who is her brother, which is why being actually held off the ground wasn't scary.
> 
> Matt, for clarification, is not necessarily more injured in this scene than he was in the show, but he did detour for proper medical aid, meaning a lot of white gauze got added, then the fight after happened, and any new blood added to the gauze would show up better. Hence the concern he'd scare the kid. Also, Skye does the people thing better than Matt when he's in Devil-Mode.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt reaches for some kind of understanding of his new social situation, Foggy doesn't understand people as well as he thinks, and Karen meets a nemesis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I forgot the Love Fest, sorry gang!
> 
> Love Fest! To ValkyriePhoenix, angelofheaven, MarauderHeir, Maharet, Shadows_of_Shemai, Selene_Aduial, ClockWeasel, hhhellcat, nemohana, SionnachOiche3, and the 4 new kudo-ers.
> 
> I'm sorry my posting has sort of vanished, I've got the viral sinus infection that's been going around. So stuff is basically on hold until my face stops trying to explode.

To make up for telling Foggy he was going to Mass with Skye, Matt stopped by the church the next day, sitting outside.  He could have gone in, but his guilt was finally hitting him over yesterday’s lie.  Signing on with the even-more-secret group she worked for seemed to have soothed his sister’s worries, and she’d said she forgave him, but this morning she hadn’t come over.  It had only been a few days, but he’d gotten used to waking up to her cooking.

“Hello, Matthew,” a voice interrupted his wallowing.

“Hi, Father.  I’ve been thinking about loneliness.”

“Mm, a heavy topic,” Lantom agreed, settling in on the bench.  “What brought that up?”

“Oh, just… secrets can make us feel like we belong, give us a shared place of great privilege.  But when you have to keep one from someone you care about… secrets can make a man with ten thousand friends into the loneliest wretch out there.”

“Ah, yes.  I’m very aware of how that can feel.  The Seal of the Confessional isn’t given lightly, because it’s as much a trial of a priest’s soul as it is a gift we give to our flock.  Even we suffer things like loneliness.”

“How do you handle it, Father?” Matt asked, leaning curiously in toward the older man’s comforting voice.  He could hear the faint arrhythmia that had crept in under Lantom’s steady droning heartbeat.   “The loneliness, the secrets?”

“Well, I’ve tried a number of things.  Some work better than others, and some work for some people but not others.  Father Callahan over in Brooklyn spends his Thursdays doing transcendental Buddhist meditation, actually.  He swears by it.  We always watch out for the young bucks coming along starting to self-medicate with alcohol, and I know a few nuns who cope by baking.  If Sister Rosa Marie doesn’t lay off the brownies, I’m going to need a bigger cassock.  But what I find works best, is this.”

“This?" Matt asked, tilting his head.  Surely Lantom hadn’t just gestured to something.  He hadn’t felt the air move that much

“You and me, we’re sitting and talking,” Lantom said.  “You know I can’t tell you any of the things told me in Confession.  I know you well enough to know you won’t tell me what you’ve been up to that got you those bruises outside an actual confessional.  Even then, it’s chancy.”

“And does that seem fair to you?”

“It is what it is, Mathew.  I wasn’t put here to have an easy life in a fair world.  I get the feeling neither were you.  Why are you really here?”

“My sister is in town.  We haven’t seen each other since we were little, and I’m not sure she’s happy with how much I keep to myself.  It’s hurting relationships in my life, I think.”

“Ah, family,” the old priest nodded.  “ _That_ story hasn’t gotten any easier since Cain and Abel got into it over sacrificial offerings.  If you want to come in, I can make you some coffee while we talk about it.  The chamber of commerce donated one of those fancy new espresso machines.  You had a lot on your mind the last time you were here.  It’s not good to let it stack up.”

“Maybe later, Father.  I need to get to work,” Matt deferred, standing up.  “I have some fences to mend, and they won’t be easier to fix if I’m late.  Take care of yourself.”

He let the priest shake his hand, old skin delicate under his fingertips, before walking off.  He figured Lantom didn’t know he could still hear him when the priest muttered behind him, but it was comforting to know what he said.  

“Father, I do hope you know what you’re doing with that one.  He’s gone through the fire more than any man should have to.  Maybe spare an angel or two for him, he’s a good kid.”

<^>

Foggy sighed in relief as he stepped into their offices, their blessedly dark offices.  He hadn’t sported a hangover this bad since college.

“Hey. man, you look like hot toasted crap,” came a voice from by the window, shortly before the invading sunlight was cut off by a soft blue fall of some light fabric gathered into the horizontal lines of a roman shade.  “I know why I feel like shit this morning, what’s your story?”

“Huh? Skye?  What are you doing here?  Why do we have curtains?  Where’s Karen?”

“Downstairs, politely getting rid of a co-worker of mine who came over to help Matt-proof the office.  I’m pissed at him and taking it out in passive aggressive renovation.  Bonus to that is, your office is now even more ADA compliant than the actual building in which the government paper pushers file complaints of ADA violation.”

“You have strange family fights,” Foggy told her as he poured coffee into a cup.  “And I have too much of a hangover from drinking the eel to really care.”

“What’s the eel?”

“Gah, don’t remind me,” Karen said from the door.  “I got him to leave, but he’s very set on giving you that sign.”

“Sign?  A sign for the office?” Foggy asked, perking up.  "Like, on the door or the building?”

“Door, and I told him not yet,” Skye said.  “Fitz is a genius, but he needs to stop trying to be Tony Stark.  This building does not have the electrical infrastructure to handle three dimensional kineto-reactive audio signage.”

“Three de-what now?” Foggy asked.

“It’s a sign that says your name when clients are coming down the hall and gives directions,” Karen said off handedly as she sorted mail.  “It uses a computer the size of a Nissan’s trunk to tell when someone is actually trying to find you and not the financial office down the hall.  It’s also ludicrously expensive and my college self wants to murder Leo for having such casual access to such high end equipment.  God, the other PhD’s would have _killed_ for a computer like that.”

“The _other_ PhD’s?” Foggy asked.  “Are you a doctor?”

“Umm,” Karen stalled as Matt walked in.

“Matt, did you know she’s a doctor?”

“Foggy, drop it,” Matt told him, and Foggy caught Karen’s sigh of relief as he turned.  “Everyone is entitled to a few secrets.”

“Jesus fuck, Matt!” Foggy gasped as Matt set his stuff down and the red glasses shifted away from his face.  “What happened to your eye?”

“Language, Foggy.  I’m fine.”

“Yuh-huh,” Skye said flatly.  “Unless that’s an acronym, I’m out of here.  I can handle secrets, but do not just flat out lie in front of me.”

“Skye, I’m… sorry,” he amended swiftly.  “I’m not used to talking about it.  I’m not sure I _want_ to at work.  Don’t you also have a job to be doing?”

“Did most of it this morning.  Paperwork and psych recommendations with the victim and family, ran a few boxes of evidence to the DA’s office to rush the charges, let Trip try to beat me at the range.  I’m good for now, but I get your not-at-work rule.  I’ll be making dinner, invite whoever and we’ll talk then.”

She swept out as easily as she seemed to sweep in, leaving Foggy in a cloud of vanilla scented confusion as she shot him a parting smile.

“What even was that?” he asked the room at large.  “I can’t be the only one who’s lost.”

“Skye does that,” Matt said with a shrug.  “I guess you’re coming over for dinner, Foggy?”

“I will be there with very confused bells on, my friend,” Foggy assured his friend, grateful for the way Matt’s face softened from tightly held pain and panic into something softer and happier.  “Wild horses and all that.”

A knock startled them out of the start of witty banter, and Karen rolled her eyes at the two startled lawyers before moving to open the door.   _At least the office looks less like hobos live here_ , he thought in the strange, calm way of panic as the door revealed a man in a suit that cost at least four figures.

“Hi, do you do walk-ins?”

<^>

Karen wasn’t a lawyer, but after much research about her position post-rescue in terms of things like bodily autonomy, minimal resistance, and the Nuremberg defense, she had a decent feel for when creepy legal crossed into creepy illegal.  Which was why she was fighting to keep her eyebrow down when the nameless man said many harmless buzzwords to her bosses.  She almost nodded when Matt questioned his motives, but then had to stop herself smacking Foggy for sucking up to him.  She knew he didn’t care _that_ much about money, and this had to feel skeevy to him too.  Especially with the Lewis account giving them a cushion.  He chuckled awkwardly enough over the envelope, he knew, he had to know, that this stank of something awful hidden behind nice suits and wit.  She shot him a look that said as much before the man crossed a line.

“Your partner doesn’t seem convinced.”

“Since you said you find bluntness refreshing,” she started, “Matt is blind and you handed Foggy an envelope.  Unless the number inside is in Braille, which I doubt from the paper’s thickness, Matt has been given no reason to be convinced.  For all he knows, you handed Mr. Nelson a pack of monopoly money, or a death threat, or anything in between.  He’s nice enough not to tell you that, and he’s nice enough not to point out you’ve been very evasive about your needs, too evasive to draw up a reasonable contract of retainer, but I’m not.  I’m pretty blunt.  But you did say you liked that.”

“I did,” he agreed, but the warmth of his voice didn’t reach his eyes.  “Allow me to return the favor.  I’m worried about my employer’s choice of this firm, but I’m willing to put that aside.  I would like to know one thing about the clientele you’re pursuing here at Nelson and Murdock.  Do they all wind up working here after the firm gets them off on murder, or just the _pretty_ ones?”

Karen cut back a growl of curse words and Matt’s face went still.  Dangerous, even, although it seemed odd to apply that to Matt.  He reminded her of the night that her prison walls came crashing in and a dead man in leather gave her a new life.  Scratch that, he reminded her of the Winter Soldier.  In a lot of ways, especially the Thomas Paine quip that left her scouring the internet for Paine’s work.  Strange, how a deadly assassin from a bygone age could be so like a blind lawyer from a rough part of Manhattan.

“Mr. Nelson, would you please take Miss Page to get some water?” he asked blandly, totally still.  Foggy nodded and put an arm around her back as he ushered her out.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded when they got to the hall.

“In here,” he said, pulling them into a utility closet.  Her heart sped up as she recalled a lab, and a closet and the fear of hiding from a deadly killer.  “Matt and I had to check where the soundproofing was thin for upgrades and security,” he explained in hushed tones.  “Put your ear here.”

She leaned in and heard the strong and powerful sound of a skilled orator going full blast.

“You have no right to come into my office, into Miss Page’s place of work, and throw around these baseless accusations.  You also have no right to imply that she was hired for any reason other than her extreme competence and willingness to go the extra mile.  You will leave here immediately, and you will not return until she has received a full apology in written format and accepted it.  I don’t care what money you throw at us, I don’t care what sorts of powerful friends you have, and I don’t care that you didn’t come here for a lawyer.  We will do just fine without your money, and you clearly don’t need us that badly to do whatever it was you really wanted or you wouldn’t have talked to my employee that way.”

“I see you didn’t counter the powerful friends argument,” the slime said.

“I don’t need to, but if I felt like it, I could top _any_ name you gave me.  I won’t try until an actual name is forthcoming,” Matt snarled.  “We are _**done** _ here.”

Karen pulled back from the wall as she heard the door of the other room open and shut.

“Oh god, he’s… that was….”

“Viscerally satisfying in ways previously confined to sex and lava cake?” Foggy supplied.  “I know.  Matt on DefCon 5 is a scary, scary fella and I’m glad he’s my friend.  But being in the blast radius can also be… uncomfortable, hence doing this in the supply closet.  I think we’re safe now, you wanna head out first or should I give you a bit of time to recover in here?”

“I’m good,” she assured him.  “You’re a good friend Foggy.  So is Matt, in his own… terrifying way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> The Seal of the Confessional: the absolute duty of priests not to disclose anything that they learn from penitents during the course of the Sacrament of Penance.  
> Arrhythmia: heartbeat irregularity.  
> Cassock: the uniform of Catholic priests.  
> Fences to mend: slang for working on repairing a relationship.  
> The eel: the dubious booze served at Josie's bar, containing what may or may not have been an eel.  
> Four figures: four digits before the decimal, or at _least_ $1,000.  
>  DefCon 5: Hyper aggressive in defense of someone or something.
> 
> Notes:  
> Matt's philosophical chats with Lantom are a huge part of the original body of work with Daredevil. They didn't touch as much on that in the Netflix show as I would like, so I'm adding a bit.
> 
> Loneliness can stem from having to keep a secret, but it's also mitigated by others knowing you keep that secret and respecting it, as well as standard stress relief tools. Coping mechanisms can range from unhealthy to pretty healthy. 
> 
> The history of disability access is littered with hypocrisy, including the fact that although the law to make public buildings accessible was passed in 1968, the activists who pushed for the Americans With Disabilities Act in 1990 used the fact that they couldn't get in the front door of the Capitol Building as a form of protest. I'm not sure if the actual current office that processes ADA complaints is non-accessible, but it seems like a decent way to say "even more accessible than is needed"
> 
> Three dimensional kineto-reactive audio signage is a pipe dream a few of my friends in the engineering world have. This is basically all do-able, but not cost effective and would require massive infrastructure upgrades.
> 
> Karen in this does have a PhD, but it's linked to her old life, and as such she gets freaked out a bit when it's brought up.
> 
> Skye is alright with Matt saying he's Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional, because it's the truth, but she's pretty sure he's not saying FINE, but fine, which he is not.
> 
> Skye doesn't wear perfume near Matt because it sets off his sense issues. Instead, she dabs a tiny bit of vanilla extract (the good kind that's barely any alcohol) on her pulse-points. So when she brushes past Foggy, he smells the vanilla.
> 
> Foggy is partially paraphrasing two terms meaning "I'm looking forward to it"; I'll be there with bells on, and wild horses couldn't keep me away.
> 
> I totally rewrote the scene with Wesley, as it was horribly OOC for both Matt and Foggy, and in this AU, Karen would never have taken that behavior.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “It helps that your sister helped redecorate for us and curtains make me feel less like a Dickens character. Also, we have at least one client who isn’t that ass bag. I’ll just cynically hope that Mr. Lewis gets jumped by cops on camera.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and the N+M team have to make some tricky ethical choices, and bad guys remain creeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To ValkyriePhoenix, Shadows_of_Shemai, tsita, angelofheaven, Selene_Aduial, MarauderHeir, ClockWeasel, hhhellcat, nemohana, SionnachOiche3, and the 5 new kudo-ers.

Matt frowned as he smoothed down his tie.  He hadn’t had a blow up like that since college, it was disturbing that the devil in him could still lurk so close to the surface even when he vented it so thoroughly each night.  He nodded silently to Foggy and Karen as the stepped back into the office and continued outside.  The scum who’d tried to get him to sell his soul was stepping into a car, talking with a man on a phone.  He couldn’t make out the words on the far end, the static on the phone and the white noise around him made that impossible, but Mr. Confederated Global Investments was relaying that it didn’t work, that he was sorry and that Matt’s temper might be useful.

Well, it wasn’t much, but it was enough.  He pulled out his cell and activated the voice-dialler.  “Call May.”

“This is May, what do you want?” the older woman asked a second after the first ring.

“Look into Confederated Global Investments.  I’ve got a very bad feeling that trouble just tried to hire a lawyer.”

“Did trouble  _ get  _ a lawyer?” she asked, but with the phone to his ear, he could hear her typing.

“He might have, until he insulted Karen.  We’re not taking it, unless you say we need to and he comes back.  I’m not putting her through more of that unless it’s going to get him nailed to a wall.”

“It’s coming up shell companies,” she told him.  “We may need you to play along if he comes back.  Will it be an issue?”

“No, I think we can handle it, but I’m really going to hate telling Karen.  What are the odds he will come back?”

“Better than you think.  These guys tend to circle a problem like hair in a drain.  If he’s tied to the Union Allied mess, he’s done this on purpose, and  _ will  _ be back.  If he’s garden variety scum with ties to law enforcement, he’ll leave you alone from now on.  Keep your temper in check, Murdock.  It helps to picture bombs going off, for me anyway.  Imaginary C4 got me through a divorce.”

“Thank you, Agent May,” he said, but she’d already hung up.  Going back in, the shame started burning in his gut.  He’d gone too far, jepordised too much.  How could he have been so stupid?

“Matt!” Foggy called, and Matt looked up at him.  “What’s with the long face?  You’re on a different planet there, buddy.”

“I’m not particularly proud of my behavior,” he admitted.  “It was unprofessional.”

“What he did was unprofessional,” Foggy countered.  “What you did was badass.  Maybe not the best to keep lights on, but badass.”

Karen’s computer chimed while Matt tried to settle this way of thinking into his heart.  Foggy was usually right about these things, but… “How much does the bottom of your wallet hate me right now?”

“Less than it should,” Foggy admitted.  “It helps that your sister helped redecorate for us and curtains make me feel less like a Dickens character.  Also, we have at least one client who isn’t that ass bag.  I’ll just cynically hope that Mr. Lewis gets jumped by cops on camera.”

“Matt, Foggy, can you come here for a moment?” Karen asked, a wavering note in her voice.  “He sent me an apology email.  On my personal email account.  That is in no way connected to Nelson and Murdock.  I’m super freaked out by this.”

“Damn it,” Matt growled.  “I hate it when she’s right.”

“What?  When who’s right?” Karen asked.

“My sister’s boss,” Matt said carefully.  “I called on the emergency line when he left because it all felt wrong, not… I don’t know what to say, I just knew he was there because of Karen’s case, not whatever his was.  She said he’d try to get us on his payroll again.  She also said… it would help them if we take it.  I told her we’d try.”

“You’re taking a case for us?  Unilaterally?  Matt, not cool,” Foggy reprimanded.

“I’ll take it on my own if you want out,” Matt offered.  “I just… I need to at least try to catch all those bigger fish that cut Union Allied loose.  To… cut off the head of the snake.  I’m sorry, Karen, but can you find it in you to accept whatever apology it is?  Just so SHIELD can bury him when the time comes.”

“I’m doing this because I trust Skye’s team,” she said reproachfully as she typed out a reply.  “But I’m not happy about this, and I want a raise if I have to help catch bad guys.  That’s not in my job description.“

<^>

James Wesley was not a man given to sentiment.  It tended to hamper his ability to provide the very best to his employers.  That said, however, he could almost be moved to feel a sort of admiration for the tenacity with which Murdock defended his employee from such a relatively minor insult.  There was something to be said for a man who looked after his own.

If only Wesley could turn that fervent defense to his employer’s benefit.

Of course, sending Miss Page an apology was simple enough.  He may have let himself take a small, petty joy in sending it to her personal account, but the swift reply suggested she hadn’t noticed.  Well, that lack of observational ability was something to consider going forward.  He sent them the secure file on Mr. Healy and stepped out of the car.  He hated having to do this sort of pedestrian work himself, but that got people in trouble when they intrusted banal but important tasks to someone who didn’t appreciate the details.

<^>

Foggy shook out his hands as they returned to the office, trying to remove the lingering feeling of slime from their client.  Healy was guilty as sin, and they’d agreed to argue otherwise.  The man himself couldn’t be more obvious in his attempts to game the system, and honestly Foggy felt that if sociopaths could be declared non compos mentis, they’d have an insanity plea in the bag.

“Please tell me the feeling of rot on my soul will go away.  That was disgusting,” he complained, sitting behind his desk and searching for equilibrium in the friendly banter.

“Sorry, Foggy,” Matt said, mouth pulled into a dry and self-loathing grin.  “It doesn’t really.  Why do you think I wanted to leave L and Z?  Sometimes in the pursit of justice, we have to do things we aren’t proud of.”

“Ugh, and you just had to get your gross morals all over me, didn’t you?  I could have been happy and rich and utterly soulless right now.”  It was a token complaint, and they both knew it.  Too many nights of law school had ended with Foggy drunkenly sobbing to Matt about hating how good he was at arguing cases that should be lost, at mimicking the cold-blooded ruthlessness of his biological mother.  Even though it sucked right now, he knew it was worth not turning into Rosalind.  “Just, promise me… this can’t become what we do.”

Matt nodded and Karen knocked on the door to Foggy’s office.  “Hey guys, can one of you spare a minute?  Union Allied wants me to come in and discuss severance options.  I’ve got a funny feeling I’m going to need a legal pitbull in that meeting.”

“Sure thing, Karen,” Foggy said.  Matt did that funny head tilt thing that indicated increased focus.  “We of the mighty eel must stick together,” he joked.

“Thank you,” she sighed with relief.  “I’m still sort of scared of them.  Bit pathetic, huh?”

“Not at all,” Matt said, standing from where he’d perched on the edge of Foggy’s desk.  “You went through something traumatic, and it’s normal to still be leery of that pain.  I’m going to go spend the rest of the day digging up precedents for reaction and defense killings, remember that Skye wants you at dinner tonight, Foggy.  I’ll see you around.”

Foggy groaned as Matt’s sight joke sank in.

“That was  _ bad _ Murdock!  You know what?  I’m reporting that sense of humor to the Office of Stereotype Enforcement!"  Matt flipped him the bird.  "Yeah, keep laughing buddy.”

Foggy laughed as he picked up his things to take with him to Karen’s meeting.  She seemed tense, but a few well placed jokes and his naturally theatrical sensibilities got her to loosen up by the time they reached the office where she faced her previous employer’s lawyers.  They had an absolutely insane case, it didn’t hang together at all and Foggy was happy to poke holes in it all day long, but the sunlight was rapidly fading and he was wondering if Skye was a good cook with wistful resignation by the time they circled around to the only thing that could save their vague threats.

“Actually,” Foggy said with a feral grin, “My client  _ did _ go to a law enforcement agency with this information.”

“Since when is the New York Bulletin, a privately owned news organization, a law enforcement agency?” the slime sitting across from them asked, holding up a front page spread.  “Surely you can see how this complicates things, Mr. Nelson.  I’m trying to find a happy solution for everyone.”

“I had nothing to do with that article,” Karen insisted.

“So you claim that the file you illegally removed from Union Allied Construction is not the same one Mr. Urich refers to in this article?” he asked, gleeful at the idea of trapping Karen.  Foggy stopped her before she could spring the loaded question though.

“My client  _ claims _ that she was not the one to give Mr. Urich nor any individual within the New York Bulletin that file,” Foggy said.  “She gave the file to duly recognised and deputised agents of the law and beyond that, the fate of the file is no longer her responsibility.”

“Which agents of the law would those be?” the corporate lawyer sneered.  “And when did this alleged transfer take place?”

“Foggy,” Karen whispered, “I can’t actually talk about those events.  I signed a nondisclosure agreement about that night, and that one wasn't full of legal double talk and loopholes I could drive my car through.  Besides, you know what the fallout could do to…  _ people _ , if I let out more information than I should.”

“You can’t, I know who can,” Foggy told her, pulling out his phone and calling the number he’d gotten from Matt’s sister for if he found the wandering Matt first.  “Agent Barnes, this is Franklin Nelson of Nelson and Murdock.  My client, Miss Page, would like to request confirmation of the legal whistleblower status of her actions regarding Union Allied Construction.”

“You’re showing off, aren’t you?” Skye asked.  

“That is correct, Agent Barnes.”

“How badly do you want the ass who made Karen need this confirmation wet his pants?”

“Yes, we’ll need that confirmation with all due haste.”

“Give me five and leave your phone on.  Oh, and we’re having steak tonight.”

Foggy hung up as he heard the line click off, and smiled at the very different type of sociopathic monster than the client he’d met with earlier.  That was one thing to be said for being a criminal defense lawyer, he regularly met, or would meet, people much scarier than bureaucrats.  “Just a moment, please.  Government wheels spin on their own time, I’m sure you know.”

Their opposition huffed, but Foggy was great at long, awkward silences, and Karen had brought a notepad on which she was constructing a sudoku, which was an interesting and intimidating hobby.  Death by boredom seemed like it was on the horizon when a knock startled the three.  A shorter, balding man in a perfectly average suit and a taller Asian woman in no-nonsense business attire stepped in past a protesting secretary.

“I’m Agent Phil Coulson,” the man said, “with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.  This is my second in command, Agent May.  Our media liaison agent is downstairs coordinating the public reaction and will be arriving shortly.  Agent Barnes is very good at her job, so you needn’t worry that a federal presence will disrupt your business.”

“What are you doing here?” the rapidly deflating corporate lawyer asked.

“Isn’t that obvious?” Agent May asked, and Foggy felt any and all scraps of machismo he might have had evaporate.  “You’re trying to run our confidential informant out on a legal rail you have no right to.”

Agent Coulson cleared his throat and May backed down.  “Miss Page acted in good faith as a conscientious citizen and has thus far been met with coercion, threats, and physical violence.  We’re just ensuring that she feels safe and that her rights are being respected.”

“This is government intimidation!” the man blustered.

“Actually,” Skye said from the doorway, “what you were trying to do was intimidation.  I have the entirety of the Sarbanes-Oxley Act of 2002 pulled up on my tablet, I think you want section 806, boss.”

Agent Coulson thanked her and took the StarkPad.  “Yes, here it is.  No company with a class of securities registered under section 12 of the Securities Exchange Act of 1934, or that is required to file reports under section 15(d) of the Securities Exchange Act of 1934, or any officer, employee, contractor, subcontractor, or agent of such company, may discharge, demote, suspend, threaten, harass, or in any other manner discriminate against an employee in the terms and conditions of employment because of any lawful act done by the employee to provide information, cause information to be provided, or otherwise assist in an investigation regarding any conduct which the employee reasonably believes constitutes a violation of….”

“All right,” the corporate tool relented.  “What does any of this have to do with Miss Page’s severance agreement?”

“Good question,” Foggy said cheerfully.  “Not a single thing until you tried to prevent her from drawing her usual severance without signing paperwork that would obstruct these fine agent’s investigation into the messy legal issues behind Union Allied.  Cut my client her rightful check and count yourself lucky she isn’t pressing charges yet.”

Leaving the office building with Karen looking a bit star-struck was certainly worth delaying dinner, but he still looked forward to steak.  He was only human after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Dickens: referring to Charles Dickens, who wrote a lot of stories about Victorian era orphans and other starving poor people.  
> Non compos mentis: legally, referring to someone who is insane, or not mentally competent to conduct one's affairs.  
> Sarbanes-Oxley Act: the act that protects corporate whistleblowers who reveal wrongdoing.
> 
> Notes:  
> May was in the accounting department after she stopped doing field work and before Coulson recruited her. She's definitely the one you want digging into the money trail, and is certainly going to spot the shell companies that the Kingpin is playing 'follow the ball' with.
> 
> Karen is right to get upset that she's being asked to do this, especially since it's pretty clear that this poses a clear and present danger. She's willing to do it because she's more than a little heroic herself, but Matt needs to learn to check before signing his friends up to catch bad guys.
> 
> Wesley's scene is right before that super creepy scene in canon where he talks to the kids playing pinball when he goes to pick up the gun. I left that out because he came off super pedo and I'm not really willing to write why a character would act that way to teen boys.
> 
> In the comics, Foggy's mother is Rosalind "Razor" Sharpe, a ruthless attorney who deserted her husband not long after their son was born. Much of the moral drama in his life as I write him is being a damn good lawyer and wanting to use that skill, but being terrified it will make him like a woman he hates.
> 
> Many stereotypes about disabled people exist, one of the ones that's both annoying and fun to mock is that disabled people don't have a sense of humor about their disability. (We do, we just know the difference between laughing at and laughing with.) Foggy is being a good ally by laughing the same way Matt does (and thereby with, not at) about that.
> 
> Sudoku are fun brain games to play, building them however is a lot harder and tends to become the next best step after hitting the super hard ones and finding them too easy. Karen in this verse has a genius level IQ and not a lot of ways to use it, which is unpleasant for her and dangerous for her immediate surroundings. Hence the brain toy. Of course, that people who go up against her see it as a mental intimidation move is a completely unintended side effect.
> 
> Phil is a master of the art of the hidden threat. Nothing he said could be seen as overtly threatening or intimidating, but since this guy know he's in the wrong... Phil scares his pants off.
> 
> The large chunk of complex legal text was pulled straight from the Sarbanes-Oxley Act, section 806, which is about what is happening with Karen and how that's not legal. It's not strictly necessary to understand, but picture Clark Gregg reading that in a monotone with that 'I'm going to tase you and watch Super Nanny while you drool into the carpet' grin.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “New rule, you are never allowed to bring your dickface Mr. Miyagi knock off up at dinner,” Skye said calmly, and Matt pulled back, looking stricken.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt comes clean to Foggy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Shadows_of_Shemai, ValkyriePhoenix, ClockWeasel, SionnachOiche3, Beth_Mac, nemohana, MarauderHeir and the 5 new kudo-ers.
> 
> Apologies for the waits, my life has gone a little nutty lately and writing got delayed.

Matt hadn’t known what to do when Foggy called for help.  Skye fixed that problem by calling Jemma Simmons to come do the start of the ability testing while the rest of the team went to save Foggy and Karen.  She’d run him through several hearing tests, but was still not certain his hearing counted as super-human.  Apparently, a lot of blind people could echolocate.

“The thing is, even with the extraordinary level of sensitivity, you’d still not be able to do much of what you do in a fight.  I’ll give you that hearing heartbeats is abnormal, but the tests show that your own heart has to be under a certain threshold to hear another’s.  Yet you never cross the line in a beating where death becomes likely.”

“Well, different types of stress smell different,” Matt admitted.  This was the creepy part of his power.  “About to do something wrong smells sour, like milk that’s gone bad.  In a fight smells peppery, and when I need to stop, they smell sort of musty.  Bruises that are too close to the skin feel hot, too, even from a distance, and I can avoid some deaths by not hitting already injured places too often.”

“Interesting,” she said.  “So your powers go beyond hearing, into smell and thermoreception.  I wonder….  You may have an increased density of neuropils in your nervous system, increasing sensitivity.  Like… oh, vampire bats.  Skye mentioned something about your sense of taste?”

“I can generally identify the number of individual food preservatives in any given bite,” Matt said, happy she wasn’t freaking out.  “Also, food from different regions, and how clean the cook kept his hands.  Kissing a woman can tell me if she has any STD’s, and breathing through my mouth lets me use the sense of smell to a finer degree.”

“Fascinating,” Simmons sighed.  “Would you mind if I collect a cheek swab to run some tests?”

He agreed to that with a smile.  It was nice how little his sister’s friends seemed to be bothered by his ability, and although she was studying him, Simmons didn’t make him feel like a lab rat.  She collected her samples and packed up, leaving with a cheerful ‘ta, see you later then’ as Skye and Foggy came in.

“Seriously, Matt?” Foggy asked.  “She was gone what?  Half an hour?  Porn is not a script for real life, man, you aren’t  _ actually _ supposed to seduce the babysitter.”

“I wasn’t seducing her,” Matt said at the same time Skye insisted “Jemma’s not a babysitter.”

“I am going to just walk away from this one,” Foggy said.  “Food?  Because if it will get me fed and avoid Skye challenging me to single combat for the honor of her friend, I am happy to claim low blood sugar.”

“Of course,” Skye said, seeming happy with the change in topic.  “I made salads to start with, and the steaks can finish cooking while we eat them.  Matt, can you set the table?”

Matt agreed, and quickly laid out the silverware and plates.  They sat down and Sky began to pray.  “Saint Michael, defender of man, stand with us in the day of battle.  Saint Jude, giver of hope, be with us in our desperate hour.  Saint Christopher, bearer of burdens, lift us when we fall.  Amen.”

“That was pretty,” Foggy remarked as they started dishing out lettuce and veggies.  “I thought you weren’t Catholic?”

“I’m not,” Skye said.  “Some people use prayer to calm down if they’ve gotten riled up.  I’m not really in that habit as much as I should be, but my other brother reminded me it was an option on days meditation isn’t working.  I like that one, it’s the heroes prayer.”

“It’s not very heroic, though,” Foggy said carefully.  I mean, it starts well, but phrases like ‘desperate hour’ and ‘when we fall’ don’t inspire much confidence.”

“Being a hero is less about always winning and more about continuing to fight after you’ve lost,” Matt added quietly.  “When we’re desperate, we fight that much harder.  When our back is to the ropes, we see what we can do.”

“And falling happens,” Skye said, her voice warming with pride.  “Getting back up again is where the heroics come into play.”

“Murdocks get knocked down.  They just don’t  _ stay  _ down,” Matt agreed with a smile.  A timer dinged, and Skye stood up to pull warm bread out of the oven, the yeasty smell making Matt’s stomach growl.  The rustle of soft cotton and woven basket reeds followed, and his mouth was watering by the time Skye set the basket by her plate.  “Hey, Quake, toss me a roll,” he asked.

“Wow, you’re _volunteering_ to eat more food?” she asked, pretending to be shocked.  “Heads up.”

He snagged the flying dinner roll out of the air, and ripped it open to inhale the sweet, rich scent.  “Mm, thanks.”

<^>

Foggy blinked.  The philosophical dinner talk was one thing, Skye throwing bread at her brother, who was blind, was another.  That Matt had successfully grabbed it and they both kept eating like it was nothing was frankly suspicious.

“Be honest, did you practice that?”

Skye said no, at the same moment Matt said yes.

“Matt, stop lying, we didn’t plan that,” Skye told her brother, clearly annoyed.  “You’re chickening out, and I’m not okay with that.”

“I’m not lying, I wouldn’t do that with anyone I hadn’t had several food fights with as a kid.  And did we or did we not practice after school with a koosh ball to be able to save the donuts during the annual Creedy Twins baked goods barrage?”

“Matt, that was fifteen years ago, how do you even still remember that?  It’s not like the practice, which by the way didn’t pay off as well as it should because you kept letting the jelly ones go and grabbing bran muffins, would actually still help here.”

“Jelly is _disgusting_ on the hands and I ate the bran muffins to make up for it,” Matt defended, pulling a face.  “And I still remember how to pull off a two-foot roundhouse kick, which I learned twenty years ago.  My muscle memory is _great_ , even Stick agreed.”

“New rule, you are never allowed to bring your dickface Mr. Miyagi knock-off up at dinner,” Skye said calmly, and Matt pulled back, looking stricken.

“Okay, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize how upset that made you.”

“What just happened?” Foggy asked, feeling totally lost.  “I think I missed a memo.”

Matt sighed.  “Well, I did ask you here so I could tell you… I just suck at explaining it.  For starters, I am blind… but there are other ways to see.”

“That’s your opener?” Skye asked, eyebrow arching.  “Supremely unhelpful.”

“If you’ve got something better, please, share with the class,” Matt snarked back.

“I think I will,” Skye told her brother primly before turning to Foggy.  “When Matt lost his sight, it did other shit to his senses.  They’re way stronger than they should be.  He can’t see, or do things that require sight, like drive, but he can do stuff normal people, blind or not, can’t.  He uses that to compensate.  For instance, he can’t see me give him a death glare, but just now I calmed down my heart rate and breathing dramatically, and he knows it means the same thing.  He can’t see the roll, but he can hear the passage of it through the air and feel the wind off the toss well enough to catch it.”

“Your heart rate?” Foggy asked, fumbling for the only part of this he thought he understood.

“Why do you think he calls me Quake?” she asked him wryly.  “I was one angry kid when he met me, which for some reason he liked.  I learned how to control how fast my heart goes when I joined SHIELD, which freaks him out a bit and makes me feel like a May-level badass.”

“Okay,” Foggy said, looking between Skye’s grin welcoming him in on a secret and Matt’s wounded duck look pleading with him not to get angry.  “This is all strange and weird and I want a beer, or maybe whiskey, but it doesn’t really explain how angry you’ve been lately.  Something more than me not knowing Matt’s funny people trick is going on here.”

A timer dinged, and Foggy prepared to be delayed.  “I’ll go get the visual aides,” Matt said, “you get the steak.”  Skye nodded, but she squeezed Foggy’s shoulder in empathy as she got up to grab the tray from under the broiler.  Matt snorted as she set the plated steaks out.

“Stop telling bad jokes where Foggy can’t hear,” Matt scolded.  “It’s rude.  Also, the civil engineer joke is inappropriate for dinner.”

“Make me, Dread Pirate Murdock,” she countered.  Foggy was about to ask what she meant when Matt unfolded a black cloth mask and pulled it on.  

<^>

Skye contemplated the mask as she sat down.  “I still say you should let Fitz make you something better.  You’re covering up your eyes, it’s not going to take long before they realize their asses are getting handed to them by a blind guy.  Then it’s a matter of time before they realize that of all the blind guys, only one is obsessed with Hell’s Kitchen, reasonably fit, and goes to court with injuries matching what they hit the man in the mask with.  It’s a horrible disguise.”

“Wait, wait,  _ Matt  _ is the vigilante?” Foggy asked, his voice tipping up higher than Skye thought it normally would.  She watched Matt wince, the muscles pulling on his cheeks at the edge of the mask.  “Oh, God.  I called you a nut.”

“I’m not sure you were wrong, exactly,” Matt told him, pulling the black fabric off.  His hair stuck up and crazy angles and Skye fought down the urge to go comb it into order.  She wasn’t quite ready to become Nana Liz or Aunt Leora, or heaven help her, Sister Margaret Catherine.  She focused on her steak instead as Foggy expertly grilled Matt on the whys and wherefores of vigilante justice.  They slowed down as Foggy got to questions about the current issues, and hit a full stop that led to them looking at her as she finished a bite of roasted brussel sprouts.

“Sorry, I eat when I can and ignore the drama,” she explained, wiping her lips.  “Otherwise I don’t get to eat at all.  What was the question?”

“Matt says you follow him when he’s… at his night job,” Foggy said carefully.  “And he won’t tell me stuff about that unless you say it’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah,” Skye said.  “We did make him sign the thing.  I have to get a full background check on you and put your security clearance paperwork in if you want any details, but suffice it to say, we noticed when a man in a black mask started beating criminals half to death.  My team came to investigate, I looked Matt up on a personal note, discovered the two were connected, and one thing led to another, led to me barging in on Matt getting or being injured.  Twice.  He’s not allowed out alone until we finish running him through basic fight safety training.”

“That’s what I meant by ‘annoying’ and ‘overprotective’ just now,” Matt grumbled, and Skye blew a raspberry at him.  “I’ve been training for this since I was a kid, you know.”

“Don’t care, you make rookie mistakes I put you with rookies,” Skye told him firmly.  “Did you or did you not spring the most obvious of all obvious traps last Sunday?”

“I got a little overconfident,” he admitted slowly.  It was like pulling teeth, trying to get him to admit he’d fucked up.  “The results were… not optimal.”

“Your lung almost collapsed on Claire’s sofa,” she told him.  “If Jemma didn’t have the hots for you, I would have gone to Troika’s basement without you, because you’d be in intensive care.”

“I realize this is hypocritical of me, but I don’t want you ever trying to bust up the Russian mob alone,” Matt said.  “I mainly agreed to do the training and teamwork thing because I thought about how I’d feel if the situation was reversed.  So, please, just promise me you’re not going to do this on your own.”

Skye rolled her eyes.  “Of course I’m not doing it _alone,_ I have a team.  Hell, give me a decent cell signal and I can put out the Assembly call and get three super heroes minimum here to back me up in half an hour, traffic depending.  I’m still halfway sure I’m going to end up mortgaging my soul to buy Natasha a big enough bribe for not inviting her to come play.  Her Dad won’t enforce it, but she hears _everything_ and for a deadly assassin, has a really good pouty face.  I hate being the Black Widow’s favorite aunt sometimes.”

“The… wait a minute,” Foggy spluttered.  His shocked look was friggin’ cute, and Skye had to bury a grin in a sip of her juice.  “How are you the Black Widow’s aunt?  I’m pretty sure she’s Russian.”

“She is, that’s why she’ll get irked I’m busting up Russian gang crime without her.  But her Dad, Winter Soldier, is my other brother Bucky.  It’s a complex family, especially when you factor in that one of my co-workers is technically Bucky’s godson, and Tony acts as the eccentric uncle to everyone, but the mischievous nephew to Bucky and Steve, and Clint is everyone’s goofy cousin except to Nat, who is his lover, and then the ancillary family members… yeah.  Trust me, nobody except the people who keep spreadsheets knows how all that’s connected.”

“Huh,” Foggy said, and slumped back in his chair.  “Pass the butter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Echolocate: to use sound waves and echoes to determine where objects are in space.  
> Mr. Miyagi: the character of the martial arts sensei from the Karate Kid movies.
> 
> Notes:  
> Pheromone communication can indeed result in knowing the type of stress causing a smell. Illness, guilt, anger and injury all smell different to those with sensitive enough noses, and to those without super-sniffers, still indicate things to the subconscious.
> 
> Scientifically speaking, neuropils are a dense network of interwoven nerve fibers and their branches and synapses, together with glial filaments. In laymans terms, they're responsible for bats and snakes that can 'see' heat signatures, as well as one of the reasons that human sense of smell is tied to sense of taste. For Matt to have the powers he does, I'd say it's highly likely he has a greater amount than an average human.
> 
> Foggy sees Matt as being a bit of a womanizer. Not really as a bad thing, but he's far more likely to read sex into a situation if Matt's involved. Matt's used to defending the women in question, but Skye just doesn't want Jemma reduced to the babysitter, she's fully aware Jemma looked turned on.
> 
> The Hero's Prayer is by Marion G. Harmon from the Wearing the Cape series. I love those books, and I maintain that Hope Corrigan and Matt Murdock are some of the only well-written Catholic capes out there. I love Steve, but in the early days it was very clear he was written by Jewish boys who only sort of knew what Catholicism was. As for modern times, the less said about Secret Empire the better.
> 
> Matt has sensory difficulty with certain tactile sensations and would probably rather scoop out his own eyes than get the jelly from a jelly donut on his bare skin. He can withstand that sort of thing, he's never going to seek it out.
> 
> Stick was Matt's teacher and SUPER DUPER ABUSIVE. Skye never met the guy, but she saw how Matt came away from sessions with him and how Matt's emotional state was fucked up by him. She would definately like to shoot him in the nuts, and although Matt now understands on some level that the way Stick treated him wasn't okay, he still doesn't fully grasp the intensity of how much the people who care about him would hate how Stick hurt him. That's pretty common for abused kids, and Skye won't push him to understand it, but she won't let him damage her emotional state casually.
> 
> Funny people tricks were a segment on one of the late night talk shows back in the 80's and 90's, playing off the idea of animals doing tricks. Matt's super power isn't out of line with some of the weird shit people took on those shows.
> 
> Matt is a living example of 'do as I say, not as I do' but Skye understands why. She's not going to do as Matt does, because she likes her body in one piece. It's just annoying when he resists admitting he fucked up.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “It would free a murderer, but he’d be easy to watch with your vague yet menacing government powers.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial starts and it doesn't go well for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Love Fest! To Shadows_of_Shemai, ValkyriePhoenix, hhhellcat, angelofheaven, aquadrop25, Beth_Mac, ClockWeasel, nemohana, Selene_Aduial, SionnachOiche3, and the 8 new kudoers.

The next day, he prepped the case for Healy with Foggy.  They divided the work the way they often did in mock trials in college, Foggy prepared the opening, softening up the jury with his open face and charming demeanor so that when Matt closed the gut punch of emotional honesty hit them in an unguarded state.  The trial got bumped up close, which was… concerning.  A murder trial usually took a lot longer, which was a good thing.  It meant both sides were fully prepared to argue the case.  For a murder charge, something that could ruin a human life forever, having time to prepare was in everyone’s favor.

That Healy’s case got fast tracked meant that the outcome of the case wasn’t actually the priority.

Matt worked through meals, letting either Karen or Skye put food beside him and nibbling as he listened to precedents on tape and struggled to make the slightly raised print of law books into legible words with over sensitive fingertips.  Foggy was in much the same state, Matt could tell, because the strains of opera playing from the headphones in Foggy’s office switched from Gilbert and Sullivan to Tosca and Carmen.  That was stress.

Finally, after what felt like forever and not nearly long enough, the trial arrived.  Foggy delivered his opener, and Matt tracked the jury, looking for who needed to be convinced by their hearts.  He practically flinched as Mr. Confederated Global Investments came in, fancy watch ticking distinctly.  So did one of the jurors.  Matt tapped out a note about that on his electronic notepad, thankful for the evidence that something was up.  He’d known it was, but it felt better to have a line on concrete evidence than to have circumstantial.  The first round of witnesses was unremarkable, both sides scrambling for time and traction with little to no preparation, and Matt could feel the judge getting frustrated by the time the end of the day was called.  A nervous heartbeat from the younger paralegal on the prosecution’s side slowed his footfalls.

“Hey, Foggy, can you tell my sister I’ll be home a bit late for dinner, but I’m not planning to overwork myself?”

“If this is about your night job…” Foggy warned, still not totally okay with the extra-legal side of things.

“It’s not.  Or if it is, it’s not going to turn into overtime tonight.  I’ll tell you about it later.”  Foggy grunted and moved off, allowing Matt to turn to the woman waiting by the elevator.  “Down, please?”

“Of course,” she replied, and they stepped into the little metal box together.  Matt thought back unpleasantly to the dumpster, but swallowed the tension.  One nervous wreck was enough for this talk.

“It’s not your fault,” he said carefully.  The para jumped a bit.  “The timing, something got messed up, paperwork or scheduling conflicts.  It’s not your fault we had to jump in so fast.”

“Oh,” she sighed.  “Are we really supposed to be… you’re the defense.”

“I’m not talking about any details,” Matt assured her.  “I’d say the same to any young lawyer who got stuck in this situation.  It’s not your fault we had to move so fast, and everyone understands that this isn’t normal.  Nobody reasonable blames you for the amount of scrambling inherent in such a fast case.  It’s scary, but don’t give up.”

“I’m not giving up,” she told him stubbornly.  “I’m going to finish this job, pass the Bar exam, and become a damn fine lawyer.  Nothing is going to scare me away.”

“That’s a good mantra, Miss?”

“Blake,” she told him.  “Rebecca Blake.”

“Matt Murdock,” He replied, offering his hand.  She shook it briefly, business-like and firm, before settling back into a calmer stance.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Murdock.  We’re still going to crush you and put Healy behind bars, though.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he assured her, stepping out to head home.

<^>

Trip rolled his eyes as Murdock and Skye got ready for their night out.  She was a Legacy, all right, nobody else ever got this crazy.  It was a simple case of jury tampering, they could sort it out without the masks, but did anybody ever ask him?  No.  No they did not.

“Aww, come on Trip, you can take the next one,” Skye cajoled.

“I’m gonna take this one from the nice warm HQ, because I’m not crazy.  Unlike some family members I could name.  It’s freezing out there!  What makes you want to go running around after dark in below freezing temperatures?”

“Is he turning into his mother?” Murdock wondered idly.  “I’ve heard that happens sometimes, but I’d never seen it actually happening.  Probably because I grew up in a mostly mother-free environment.”

“Oh, be happy I’m not my mother,” Trip warned.  “My momma can beat up your momma.  My momma used to be able to beat up eighty seven percent of Army officers and she’s still the scariest drill sergeant on two legs.”

“Mrs. Triplet is totally intimidating,” Skye added.  “She’s like his grandpa Gabe crossed with a grizzly bear and poured into a body that’s an attractive older Beyonce with the muscle tone of Chuck Norris.  I like that about her, but I’m also glad she’s not on our team.  We’re not sure where Trip got the square genes from.”

“I am not a square, you take that back,” Trip insisted, double checking her harness a bit more roughly than required.

“I’ll take it back when you stop acting like one,” Skye teased.  “You look like a badass to people outside of SHIELD, but when I stand you next to Coulson or even Sitwell… you’ve got a bit of the lame.”

“I know you’re manipulating me,” he told her as the van they were staging out of pulled up and they stepped out into the alley to catch their ride.  “It’s working, but I want you to know that I know.”

“Oh please, Trip,” Skye laughed.  “I know that you know that I know that you know.  You’re just saying it to feel better about caving to peer pressure.”

“It concerns me that I follow that line of thought,” Murdock muttered and the two got inside and drove to the suspicious juror’s last known location.  Trip shook his head and went back in to steal cookies from Jemma.

“Hey there, Gemstone, what’s cooking, good looking?”

“The Jaffa Cakes are above the fridge, Trip,” she said with a sigh.  That wasn’t going to do at all.  Of course, he had wanted cookies, but he didn’t want her thinking he only wanted cookies.

“Woah, there Miss Sunshine, what’s up?  You usually like when I flirt my way to your snack stash.”

“I do,” she admitted.  “It feels nice when a reasonably fit and good looking man who knows what he’s doing affirms my attractiveness.  It also gets a bit stale.”

“Stale?” Trip asked, honestly concerned.  “I can mix it up if you’d like.  New pet name, new avenue of compliments?  I started with looks because they’re easy and you looked like you could use the reminder a few times early on, but I can move to brains, humor, that thing you do when you get a problem between your teeth and run with it… I’m flexible and I want to  _ earn _ my cookies.”

She smiled, and his gut did the flippy thing he was starting to associate with Jemma.  “That’s very kind of you, but I’d really rather you didn’t at all.  I’m dealing with some things and I’d prefer not to contaminate my data with workplace flirting intended to get into the biscuit stash and not my pants.”

“Okay,” he agreed.  “I can do that.  Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”  He sat down as she fussed with dials and switches in a gadget.  She’d talk when she needed to.  “It’s Fitz.  He told me… well he said some things, and he’s my oldest friend, and I’d be lost without him, but I’m just not sure of any of it.  I’m reevaluating everything because of it.”

“Do I need to have a talk with him?” Trip asked, concerned.  Fitz could be abrupt and wasn’t great with emotions, but he’d never thought the kid would hurt Jemma in any way.  This sounded bad, and no way was Jemma going to be in an abusive friendship with no back-up.

“No!” she yelped, jumping to turn and stare, wide eyed, at Trip.  “That would just make things worse!  He already thinks you and I are… you and I, if you know what I mean.  Having you tell him to lay off while I do an emotional inventory would simply convince him we are!  No, I’d best handle it myself.”

Trip nodded, because what else could he do?  He’d never really fully considered Jemma as a partner, but now that he had the thought, it fit.  His gut did the flippy thing, he went out of his way to stock her favorites on the Bus, and he liked carrying tools for her even though he didn’t understand her level of biological and chemical science and otherwise hated squishy things that smelled bad.  He had a squish.  Possibly a crush, but he’d always had a hard time telling, it was why he’d dedicated so much time to learning the art of the flirt; people didn’t poke you for answers if they saw you flirting with a number of people.  But it looked like there was a good chance he wanted something with Jemma, and Fitz was already messing up her balance by breaking his best friend role, so Trip was going to play it cool.

Yeah… he was fucked.

<^>

Matt shrugged his shoulders awkwardly as Foggy led him into the courtroom, and Skye frowned at them from her seat at the back.  The blackmail had been ended, and now what her brother had called “a farce of a case” was back on track, which meant bad things for the future of Nelson and Murdock.  Either they’d succeed at getting their guilty-as-sin client off for a crime he most certainly committed, forever jeopardizing their reputation, or they’d lose the case and risk their firm closing before it even got off the ground.  Skye had briefed Foggy, to spare her brother from having to metaphorically look his best friend in the eye and admit he’d gambled on their future and it hadn’t payed off like they’d hoped.  She hadn’t really counted on how badly seeing the understanding break in his eyes would hurt her, though.  Foggy had said it was fine, but it really, really wasn’t.

She sat through the two sides questioning witnesses and tried to keep her heartbeat low to avoid the sound drowning out Matt’s hearing and her own stress from ruining her focus on the jury.  They couldn’t get not guilty, from the looks on people’s faces, but they might hang it up with one or more jurors voting against the group.  Matt had said that could be seen as a good outcome, neither losing nor winning.  Well, what he’d said was “It would free a murderer, but he’d be easy to watch with your vague yet menacing government powers.”  That was… less than reassuring.

The trial reached a lull point where everyone was tired and it could go either way if you went by the sluggish, exhausted bodies in the jury box and the dull, glassy stares of the juror.  Skye was stretching, when a smarmy looking guy she recognised from pulled traffic footage stepped in and Matt stiffened.  She followed Matt’s line of ‘sight’, the sort of cone shaped wedge where his finest tuned hearing was, and spotted the juror he was signalling had changed his pattern.

She slipped her flex screen out of her bag and tapped a warning to Coulson on it.  She received confirmation and orders to stay put.

“Coulson said to keep calm and carry on,” she told Matt subvocally.  He nodded almost imperceptibly as Foggy asked his first question of the prosecution’s witness.

Skye focused her attention on the man who’d caused the reaction.  His smile was cold, sort of distant and wrong, like he knew the general idea of smiling but had none of the standard human reasons to smile teaching him how it was done.  A textbook smile learned by rote, she realized.  Like what Bucky’s daughters did sometimes when they were unsure of what to do.  He also didn’t seem to care about the outcome of the trial, which made sense on some level, he’d rigged it.  But he did seem interested in her brother, eyes tracking Matt as he told the jury it wasn’t a question of morality or ethics, of right and wrong and good and evil, but of law.  Smarm-guy seemed particularly pleased by that line of logic and Skye fought down a gag.  This was into Ian Quinn levels of creeper, and she still hadn’t forgiven that bastard for shooting her in the gut.

Finally, the case wrapped up and the jury stepped out, as did the cold, slithering mass of evil in a human disguise.  Skye kept out of Matt and Foggy’s way as they packed up their papers and nodded to the prosecution.  It was best if she didn’t call attention to herself.  AC showed up a minute later, and she was following him anyway.

“We’ve identified the man as James Wesley,” Coulson told her quietly.  “He’s a professional middle man, but as best we can tell has kept is fingerprints off anything too nasty.  There’s no solid lead as to who he’s working for now, and he must be working for someone, he’s not the type to plan things of his own accord.”

“Want me to go fishing, Boss?” she asked, casually brushing hair out of her face to cover the words.

“No.  Wesley’s a pro, and he never gives up his employer, it’s his big selling point as a middle man.  He’s loyal to who pays him.  Although now that we know it’s really him, I’m thinking we might have bigger problems.”

Skye looked at Coulson, worried for once that he wasn’t pushing for action.  He never was the guns-blazing type of agent, but she’d never seen this level of reserve before.  “AC?”

“Professionals don’t get tied down.  Not in his line of work.  They do the job, they get paid, they leave, they never speak of it again.  But the power behind Union Allied has been smoothly operating in New York for what seems like months.  That means the same middle man has been used, for months.  It doesn’t fit Wesley’s profile.”

“Unless?” Skye asked, well aware that there was an unless coming.

“Unless Wesley changed his profile… to a true believer.”

Skye shuddered.  There was nothing scarier than a nut job following a psychopath who honestly believed that the psychopath was right.  She would know, she’d had enough close calls of that kind herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Square: a boring or excessively normal person.  
> What's cooking: slang for what's up or how are things.  
> Jaffa Cakes: a delicious British biscuit (cookie for us American heathens).  
> Squish: the non-sexual version of a crush.
> 
> Notes:  
> Murder cases are big deals. They require a lot of prep work on both sides, and something like Healy's case would NOT have happened as fast as they show it. Even granting some 'magic of television' influence, that stunk to high heaven.
> 
> Foggy loves opera, but within opera there is light stuff and heavy angry stuff. Carmen and Tosca are fairly tragic stories and the music is a lot more dramatic and cathartic.
> 
> Talking to the other side's lawyers during a court case is very much against the rules. That said, however, Matt doesn't ask or reveal anything improper about the case, he's just being nice. Rebecca Blake in the comics worked at N and M as a paralegal and later a lawyer.
> 
> In the show, Trip and Jemma have a lovely flirtatious relationship with loads of chemistry. However, so do Jemma and Fitz. When Fitz revealed his true feelings for her (which can't happen the same way here due to canon shifts) it badly strained the relationship and she put greater weight on her relationship with Trip. Here though, she's under less stress and can ask for the space she needs to figure out what she wants.
> 
> I don't headcanon Trip as Ace or as Demi, but I do like playing with complex characters that need some time to figure out what's going on in their heads. Trip is listing all the sorts of things that a crush might feel like, but a lot of that is also what you might feel for a good friend. He's aware of his own emotional speed and respecting it.
> 
> The vague yet menacing government agency is a trope that shows up many places and was called out by name in the podcast Welcome to Nightvale. Matt is blind, so things like movies and tv are hit and miss and books in Braille are expensive, so free podcasts are his go to.
> 
> James Wesley is an interesting character, and I really see him as a solidly middle man type who got sucked in by a charismatic leader. His sudden switch to a true believer profile is concerning because that profile can be dangerous.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “I really think I’m going to regret asking this, but… why do you have dents that look like fingers on the inside of the roof?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They bring in Healy and get some answers, some questions, and a lot of headaches. But that's what family is for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Beth_Mac, ValkyriePhoenix, Shadows_of_Shemai, SionnachOiche3, nemohana and the 2 new kudoers.

Matt swallowed his gut instinct to rebel against the travesty of justice that was the outcome of the Healy case.  It wasn’t fair, not in the least, but there was nothing he could do about it.  The jury had been re-hung after he’d straightened out the blackmail, and Skye was telling him to wait, to calm down, to let her help him, and he really did want to.  He liked that she had his back.

The situation still sucked.

He walked beside Healy as they left the courthouse, but when the killer left on foot, Matt and Foggy stepped into a van being driven by Skye.

“Do you live in here?” he asked, wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale processed sugar and old socks.  He’d been in worse places, but that list was short and mostly consisted of dumpsters and locker rooms.

“Ha, ha, Mathew, very funny,” she said dryly.  “And I used to.  It was comfy and mobile.  When tracking a missing paper trail, those are important.  Just ignore the desk, Foggy, everything is strapped down anyways.”

“I really think I’m going to regret asking this, but… why do you have dents that look like fingers on the inside of the roof?” Foggy asked.

“Bucky had to improvise a hand grip in Nevada,” she told him lightly.  “To hold his girlfriend out the door to fake out a general so he wouldn’t try to blow us up.  I’m still buffing rocket damage out of my doors.  The ass.”

“Forget I asked,” Foggy said weakly.

“Sure thing,” Skye agreed.  “So, the plan is that Phil will finish getting the warrant, Matt and I as deputized Agents will go pick Healy up on conspiracy to commit jury fraud, and we try to get him to roll on his buddies.  Foggy can go home, and I make Matt buy Karen a gift basket for putting up with all this insanity.  Sound good?”

“Are you sure about having me come with you?” Matt asked her.  “It seems risky, exposing your job’s use of vigilante justice.”

“Matt,” his sister sighed, her hand coming across the space to brush his shoulder.  “If we don’t establish you as an agent soon, then when you do get caught on camera, which is never as fun as anyone hopes, you’ll be labeled a bad guy in point zero five seconds.  We’re getting out ahead of this and controlling your narrative.  I think SHIELD can handle a little bad press, they’re still picking bits of Nazi out of their new hires.  You aren’t near as bad as things like that darkness monster attacking the Portland philharmonic, or even Creel going Karma Chameleon on live TV.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, tilting his head to bump her fingers with his cheek.  “By the way, thank you for handling that whole thing with as much dignity as you could give a guy like Creel.”

“Hey, he may be a dick and a junkie and totally deserving of jail time,” she said, patting his hair before pulling back to focus on driving as the car moved forward, “but he was a worthy opponent.  For me and for your Dad.  I wasn’t going to make an idiot of him.  Besides, he does a pretty good job of that himself.”

“That’s true,” Matt admitted and they rolled to a stop.  Foggy got out and Matt waved, hoping his friend would forgive him for his role in this mess.

<^>

John Healy was not having a good day.  Sure, he’d gotten off on murder, and that was always a hoot, but after that things went downhill.  He’d been jumped by that damn masked vigilante guy that had his bosses so worried, and then, instead of just pounding him and getting John some hazard pay because Fisk’s people were good at paying up when you took the hits for ‘em, he’d had the balls to arrest him.  Like a damn cop, and mask guy in a set of black pajamas acting like Zorro.

Which was crappy, but didn’t even measure up to how bad it sucked when John figured out he could back it up.

Now, John was chained to a table in a futuristic gunmetal grey room that looked like one of those science fiction movies his cousin used to drag him to before getting pinched for stealing the wrong guy’s car and being sent upstate.  The man in the black mask was standing in the corner like a damn gargoyle and a young thing with great tits was asking him questions.

“I want a lawyer,” he said clearly.

“No,” she told him.  “You have the right to stay silent, but you don’t get a lawyer until I’m satisfied you didn’t know about the conspiracy to commit jury fraud and kick you back to the local forces.”

John bit his cheek to keep from swearing.  How could she know about that?

“Question one, have you ever met a man named James Wesley?”

John tried to keep it in, but he must have slipped on his face or something, because the man in the mask lifted a voice recorder and told the tape John did know Wesley.

“Question two, did James Wesley hire you to kill Mister Prohaszka?”

“That’s an affirmative,” the masked man murmured, creepy and still.  John hoped that at least he could keep them from finding anything too bad due to the limited yes or no nature of the questions.  That wasn’t to be, though and his blood went cold at the next question.

“Question three, who does James Wesley work for?”

He couldn’t tell them about Fisk.  It wouldn’t be worth trying to keep living after that.  A fast death would be a mercy if he flipped on the Kingpin of Crime.

“Back it up,” the masked man said quietly.  “He’s no use if his heart explodes.  Also, we don’t want to stress him too far, he’s going through some form of drug withdrawal and his body’s not too strong to start with.  I’d say he’s got a few months of function left anyway.”

“Hmm,” the cute yet terrifying agent mused.  “Is it bad enough I need to get Simmons in here with the blue resurrection goop?”

“Coulson said that makes most recipients insane,” the masked man pointed out, somehow playing good cop even with his fearsome reputation.  “We might not get actual help from a crazy man.”

“Only some of them, I did just fine,” she retorted casually.  “And the compulsive drawing takes time to set in unless they OD.  All the test subjects aside from Garrett were fine for weeks, and Garrett wasn’t stable to begin with.”

“Neither is he, he has several advanced stage psychiatric issues.”

“Fisk!” John shouted, just to shut them up.  He didn’t want to die, but it sounded like he was going to anyway.  “Wilson Fisk is the boss.”

“What more can you tell us?” the woman asked, suddenly on task and not at all casual.  “What is his issue with Hell’s Kitchen?  What are his plans?”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” John whined, losing hope.

“Oh, trust me,” she said with a feral grin, “you should have.  I can be damn scary when I’m made to wait.”

“You think this is still about you?” John demanded angrily.  “I gave up his name.  You don't do that, not to him.  He'll find me... and make an example.”

“We can protect you,” she started, but John ignored her.

“And then he'll find everyone I've ever cared about, and do the same to them... so that no one ever does what I just did,” John sobbed.  “You should have just killed me.”  

“I don’t kill,” the man in the black mask insisted.

“You  _ coward _ ,” John hissed.  “It’s not righteousness if it doesn’t spare human suffering.  I’ve been in enough court rooms to know _ that _ .  Even a monster like me can learn where the blur just becomes a cop out.”

The man pulled back like he’d been slapped, and the woman pulled out a package of what looked like nicotine patches.  “I can numb you up if you like,” she offered.  Now she didn’t seem cruel or scary at all, she seemed sad.  It hurt him in an odd way, like nothing he’d ever felt before.  “I won’t kill you, I’m selfish about that, but I can ease this and put you somewhere safe.  Give me a list of potential retribution targets and I’ll get them to safety too, as best I can.”

“Why?” he asked, wrecked.

“Because we’re the good guys,” she said.  “And you need help.”

<^>

Skye rubbed her hand over her face as she dropped Matt off.  Trip was out collecting the few people Healy actually cared about, May was dropping Healy at a safe house in Connecticut, AC was running down leads, and Fitz and Jemma were off doing whatever strange dance they’d been doing since last fall.  It was just her tonight and the idea of going back to the noodle shop base made her entire soul rebel.  Instead, she picked up the phone.

“Hey bro, can I crash at your place tonight?” she asked as Bucky answered with a half formed grunt of a question.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he said.  “You know you’re always welcome.  I’ll set up the guest room on our floor, just head on up whenever you get here.”

“Thanks.”  She sighed as she turned toward the Tower.  “I caught up with my brother, Matty.  It’s been rough.  I could use some less complicated family time.  And I need to apologize to Nat, I hogged a Russian gang den I know she would have liked to share.”

“What were you doing busting up a Russian gang den?” he asked, and she could hear sheets rustling over the speakerphone as he set up her bed.  He could have had a housekeeping service to do that, Tony certainly had the cash and the connections to get a secure one, but Bucky always did that shit.  It made her feel warm inside.

“They kidnapped a boy to get back at Matt for being a butt to their human trafficking ring,” she explained.  Traffic wasn’t so bad, and she could see the Tower now.  “I sort of had him threaten to sic Nat on them if they didn’t give the kid back.”

“She will forgive you, you’re her Tetushka.  Just offer to take her shooting and all will be well.”

“Shooting as in practice at the range, or shooting as in…”

“Either would work,” Bucky said and Skye could almost hear the shrug.  “Have you eaten?”

“No,” she admitted.

“What do you want?”

“Anything but Asian food.  AC set us up over a noodle shop and I spent half of Saturday hiding in restaurants on Korea Way.  I want to spend a  _ week  _ never smelling soy sauce.”

“Okay,” Bucky laughed.  “We’ve got some leftover stuffed chicken, or we have the stuff to make enchiladas or paninis.  What’s your pick?”

“Can I have a chicken pesto panini with sundried tomatoes?” she asked longingly.  Bucky made the best homemade pesto ever.

“Obviously,” he laughed.  “I also think we have… yup.  We have a box of Clint’s chocolate almond protein cookies, too.  “I’ll get started, what’s your ETA?”

“I’m pulling up to the parking gate now,” she told him, pulling her fast access pass from it’s Faraday pouch.  The gate swung up and she hung up with a cheerful ‘see ya soon’ and a roll of her shoulders as the stress began to fade.  Home was a good place to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Karma Chameleon: a reference to a song, but mainly to do with Carl 'The Crusher' Creel having powers that let him mimic what he touches. He was the one that Jack Mudock won his final fight with, and also he went toe to toe with the Bus team over the Obelisk thing.  
> A hoot: fun or enjoyable.  
> Zorro: a masked vigilante from a Spanish colony of California setting. He dressed in black with a black mask.  
> Upstate: to jail, specifically a State jail, not a county jail or a federal penitentiary. Not always actually the jail upstate.  
> Blue resurrection goop: GH325, the Kree-biology derived superdrug that brought Coulson back to life in the show and saved Skye after being shot in both the show and here.  
> Tetushka: Russian for Auntie.  
> Faraday pouch: a pouch of woven wire that keeps an electronic pass from being read and in this case copied.
> 
> Notes:  
> There's a lot of references to things that have happened in their lives before this moment and I wanted to leave that sort of open and unexplained, because they wouldn't do an info dump here. But the Nevada thing that got dents in Skye's van happened in Chapter 14 of Bodies in Space, and the Creel fight on TV happened in Agents of SHIELD's second season. It would obviously have been sort of different due to SHIELD not falling but rather getting shaky instead, but I don't feel like writing that part of the story in full.
> 
> From Healy's perspective, this is the real talk. Both Matt and Skye know she would never ever use GH 325 on an unwilling subject. They discuss it to freak him out and get the result they do.
> 
> Healy is a bad guy and he knows it. He's going to be one of the few characters I ever show thinking horrible things about people, because he's not a good man and neither he nor I has plans to redeem him. He gets saved from death because Skye is a good person and he's useful. He doesn't get saved because I like him.
> 
> The Tower is in Midtown, and technically Hell's Kitchen is in Midtown. It's not that far of a drive even if it seems like they're two separate cities.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser: 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Of course it is,” Anatoly agreed, “we’re Russian. Family is all that lasts."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Skye make some new acquaintances. But acquaintance, ally, and friend are three VERY different things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Shadows_of_Shemai, ValkyriePhoenix, ClockWeasel, hhhellcat, nemohana, SionnachOiche3, Beth_Mac, and the 2 new kudo-ers.

Matt started his Friday with bringing Karen a bouquet.  It was of dubious visual appeal, but he liked how the little florist down the street from his apartment used flowers and herbs together in ways that smelled good.  He’d found them after a really short lived fling with a girl his college RA had set him up with that turned into a literal blind date.  Alicia was sweet and funny, but the only thing they’d had in common was being blinded as children, and that was no foundation for a relationship.

“Matt, these are gorgeous,” Karen gushed.  Matt blushed and ducked his head as his secretary took the flowers.  “Thank you so much.”

“Well, we really did ask a lot of you on your first case for us,” he said, hoping his nerves didn’t show.  “You’re a great secretary and we want you to know we appreciate it.”

“You’re forgiven for taking the Confederated Global case,” she said.  “Although, I didn’t mind the cloak and dagger stuff as much as I thought I would.  In fact, I called a few people and I think I got the right guy digging at it.  Ben Urich from the Bulletin agreed to go with me to talk to Daniel’s widow.  If they tried to shut me up, they’re willing to shut anyone up.  We need to get on that information before she signs away her right to discuss it.”

“Offer her our services and we’ll call it a work meeting,” Matt told her, only half joking.  “Putting them away will feel good.”

“Oh I agree,” Karen said, her happiness clear in her voice.  “I’ll be leaving at noon to go do that, but I can come back after.”

“Go on and take a half day, we’ll survive.”

Of course, the firm wasn’t exactly overflowing with business, so Matt ended up going out for lunch with Foggy and just not going back.  That was a bit of a perk of self employment.  Instead, he stopped at the noodle shop office Skye was working from to see if she wanted to help him track down the Ranskahovs.  She wasn’t in, but Triplet was willing to partner with Matt as they combed a few criminal hotspots and shook down lower level thugs for information.  One of those fights led to Matt calling Claire and getting stitches in her coworker’s apartment while Trip annoyed said coworker’s cat with kissy noises and cuddles.

“You’re in better shape this time,” Claire said as she tied off the sutures, her hands warm and firm.  “Bad guys go easy on you?”

“Not hardly,” he laughed.  “But Trip doesn’t let them hurt me too much.  He’s a mother hen like that.”

“Hey now,” Trip warned, “if you keep talk like that up, you’ll destroy my reputation as a suave special agent.  I’d do the same for any brother in the fight.”

“I’m not sure how you think you still have a reputation as suave with how much of a marshmallow you become around Simmons and Skye,” Matt countered.  “Who are we hitting up next?”

“I have a contact in Little Odessa who might be able to point us to Vladimir Ranskahov, but she can get… flighty,” Trip admitted.  “I’ll need you on full suave mother trucker mode for this one.”

“Suave, I can do,” Matt said with a grin.

<^>

Ilsa Osinova flitted to her kitchen and pulled out bread and marmalade, then to a different cabinet to remove a samovar and start tea.  Her doorbell rang and she pressed the button to disarm her home security system so as not to impale Agent Triplett and his friend, then practiced her surprised face before going to open the door.

“Agent!  I was just making tea.  Please come in.”

“Thank you, Ms. Osinova,” he said, and guided his masked friend to sit on her sofa.  They looked so silly, dark and stern, buried in the forty-nine pillows that adorned her pastel lavender overstuffed sofa.  “We were hoping to talk to you about someone.”

“Yes, yes,” she tutted, pouring tea and scooping marmalade up with the tea spoons for stirring.  “You’ve been looking very hard.  Tea?”

“Yes please,” Agent Triplett said.  Such a nice boy, always so polite.  His companion took his tea grumpily though.  He was an impatient one, in too much of a hurry to fight the evils he could see and others couldn’t.

“Your friend needs to relax,” she told Agent Triplett.  “He’s as tense as a bowstring and he’s going to snap one day and get himself and others hurt.  I know what I’m doing.”

“Sorry, Ma’am,” the friend said, sipping carefully at the tea.  His head popped up in surprise.  “This is good!”

“Oh, wonderful,” Ilsa bubbled.  “Now Agent Triplett has someone to give his tea to when he thinks I’m not looking!”

Said Agent looked properly abashed.  She laughed.  It wasn’t like he could have hidden it, not with her gifts.  Her doorbell rang again and she went to let in the men she’d called that morning when she woke knowing what she needed.  Vladimir’s hand went to his gun when he saw her other guests, but he had the good manners not to draw it.  Agent Triplett’s friend bounced up and into a defensive position in front of the seated agent.

“Shoot them and I’ll throw you out the window,” he warned the brothers.  “That won’t go as well for you as it did for me.”

“Nobody is killing anybody in my house,” Ilsa scolded.  “Tolya, you’ve been polite, do you want tea?  I have that lemon marmalade you like.”

“Da, I would like tea,” Anatoly said.  “Volodya, get your hand off your gun.  This is a Baba’s house.”

Vladimir didn’t like it, but he did move his hand.  “Ya znayu, chto, odnako on ne.”

“He won’t hurt me, Vova,” Ilsa told the hard-headed brother.  “He’s worried you will.  Which is to be expected, dear.  You’re not too sweet to the other women, eh?”

“Other women don’t control the evil eye,” Vladimir muttered.  The masked boy snorted.

“You’ve obviously never met the women in my family.  They can do plenty.”  He picked up his teacup and held it out.  “May I have another please?”

Ilsa smiled and they sat down to break the bread and discuss business.

<^>

Skye got back to HQ with Natasha in tow, only to get a call from Trip to divert them to Brighton Beach for a meeting with some mediator and their first level enemies.  Rolling her eyes at how many times he must have watched The Godfather, she updated Natasha and swung the van around.

Osinova’s apartment was in a tiny building sandwiched between larger commercial interests, situated above a bucher.  Skye had to actually walk past hanging sides of beef, white bones shining under florescent lighting, to get to the stairs.  Natasha stopped her as they got to the top.

“Do you have a gun?” she asked.

“What kind of question is that, Nat?” Skye returned, offended.  “Of course I have a gun.  One ICER in the shoulder holster and a back-up standard in the ankle holster.”

“Don’t draw it,” Nat said firmly.  “Whatever happens, do not draw the back-up gun.  Avoid using the ICER, but on your soul don’t draw the one that kills.  This is the house of a Baba Yaga.”

“The witch from Russian fairy tales?” Skye asked, uncertain, but willing to trust Nat’s assessment.

“Not THE Baba Yaga, slava Bogu.  But certainly  _ a _ Baba Yaga.  There are lots of theories, mutant powers, actual magic, some kind of alien intervention, but the how doesn’t matter.  What matters is she’s strong and won’t like violence in her home unless she’s the one doing it.  Tread carefully, Tetushka.”

Skye nodded and rang the bell.  She came in to find a purple sofa eating Trip while Matt and one of the Ranskahovs argued at a table over tea and jam.  Their host, a delicate, bony woman with iron-gray hair and really long fingernails guided her to another man.

“My brothers would like to not get beaten,” he said after she got her tea.  He pointed to a bandage on his cheek with all four fingers together..  “So would I.”

“Mine would like to get to sleep through the night, but screams of pain and fear make that hard,” she countered.  “Can your brothers get safer jobs?”

“None that bring what we want,” he told her.  This was tricky and she wished for Darcy.

“What do you want?” she asked.  “I know a lot of people, maybe I could find you a work around.”

“Money, power, respect,” he said, drawing each word out.  “We will not go back to the gulag like a suka.”

“Then maybe stop doing illegal shit,” Skye suggested.  “What skills do you have?  I know people who can give you all three, but not for free.  Respect isn’t worth much when it’s easy anyway.”

“My men are good fighters,” he said.  “Not like the black masked devil, but against a human, they do well.  They can use all kinds of guns, and they can endure much more than most Americans.  There are some that are best with numbers, gambling and the money.  Some can hide things, get them past guards easily, avoid dogs and sweeps.  There are some that are good with people, can always bring in the payments with very little breaking of bones.  Tell me, Devchushka, what job does someone like that do that isn’t illegal?”

“One warning,” Skye said slowly, raising a single finger.  “Call me ‘girlie’ again and I’ll feed you your own heart.  I didn’t bring the Black Widow because I needed arm candy, she’s my niece and I’m not setting the bad example of letting you shit on me.”  

“Privet, Vkusno,” Natasha purred with equal parts sex and threat.  Skye wanted to turn to see the knife-edge grin, but kept her focus as she watched the horror dawn on Anatoly’s face.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up,” she continued like it was nothing.  “Good fighters who can use lots of types of guns, endure absolutely shit conditions, and have other subset skills… that sounds like my co-workers.  How would you like to work for the side of good?”

“I will not become a federal dog,” he spat.

“Good, you’d never pass the entrance exams,” she said coldly.  “You know how the Sicilian Mafia got started?  Their cops sucked butts, so tough men with names like Vinny the Ox and Jimmy Fingers started doing the cop’s jobs for them.  Alternative justice works so much better when it’s non-governmental.  It got out of hand later, but that idea still works.  If you would be willing to protect instead of hurt, I could get you an operations budget, some help investing so you can grow it and be… not wealthy, that takes too much time to get there and still work, let’s say comfortably well off.  You’d have responsibility to your area, to the people we assign you to protect, but responsibility and power go together like peanut butter and jelly.  You have to earn the respect, but you’d be in a great place to do that.”

“And what do you get, eh?” he asked, a cynical gleam in his eyes.  “You make us lick your boots?  My brother will never do that.”

“You agree to stop kidnapping people and trying to murder my brother,” Skye said bluntly, before turning to look at Matt sipping tea smugly, with the apricot colored jam firmly on his side of the table.  “I don’t think you really get how far I’d go to reduce the risk to him.  He’s  _ family _ .  Family is important.”

“Of course it is,” Anatoly agreed, “we’re Russian.  Family is all that lasts.  I will think on your deal.  If Vladimir and I agree, we will contact Baba Osinova to let you know.”

“That’s all I ask,” Skye said, standing.  “If you kidnap more women or kids, though, I can’t promise he won’t put you into a coma.  I’d regret that, wouldn’t you?”

Anatoly only smiled, a short and small thing, and grabbed his brother’s shoulder.  As they left, Skye made Matt let go of his tea cup and Nat helped her haul Trip free of the pillows.  Not a bad day’s work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Samovar: a Russian tea-making device.  
> Tolya: a nickname of Anatoly  
> Volodya, Vova: nicknames of Vladimir  
> Ya znayu, chto, odnako on ne.: I know that, but he doesn't.  
> Slava Bogu: Thank God.  
> Tetushka: Auntie.  
> Gulag: Prison.  
> Suka: Bitch.  
> Devchushka: Girlie.  
> Privet, Vkusno: Hi, Yummy.
> 
> Notes:  
> There are scent bouquets available for the blind. Matt gets them because they're also pretty and it's a good conversation starter. Also, since Karen will likely keep hers in the office, not letting the florist use anything he can't stand the smell of is important.
> 
> Alicia Masters is a blind artist who ends up dating Ben Grim of the Fantastic Four.
> 
> Russian tea is very bitter and served cut with marmalade. Matt likes the subtle flavoring, Trip thinks it's not sweet enough. Baba Osinova knows that about Trip but she thinks it's funny to watch him drink tea he hates.
> 
> The 'evil eye' in Russian culture is much like in Italian culture. Pissing off someone who can curse/hex you is never a wise choice.
> 
> Baba Yaga is a character in Russian folklore, a witch who can be useful but never kind. A Baba Yaga in this canon is a woman of Russian decent with special powers who acts as a mediator for large or complex problems.
> 
> Skye's history lesson is mostly true. Alternative justice can cover anything from vigilante beatdowns to figuring out better punishments for first time offenders or people with extenuating circumstances. A thief who steals for survival might be put to work for their victim, which pays off the debt and gives them skills to decrease needing to steal again, for example. Government law systems don't fit that sort of justice, which is where communal and extra-legal justice start to fill gaps.
> 
> Anatoly assumes Skye is Russian because she's Nat's aunt, and Nat is fairly famously Russian. It still works though.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> He knew nobody wanted to lose their rent control, let alone moving.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt takes a new client, Foggy meets an old frenemy, Skye cuts a deal and the world catches fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To ValkyriePhoenix, critterlady, SionnachOiche3, Shadows_of_Shemai, hhhellcat, nemohana, Selene_Aduial, and the 5 new kudo-ers.

There was a week’s reprieve.  A week with nobody actively trying to kill him, a week of Jemma running tests and Skye going with him as he tried to push back the city’s wrongs before he drowned in them.  Matt was pretty happy about that.  He was less happy about the Russian assassin who decided that he was her ‘Dyadya Matvey’ and also needed to eat more.  Natasha was nice, which seemed weird to say about the Black Widow, but she was worse than Skye about smothering him.

“No!” he insisted as he got ready for work.  “I do not want soup.  For the last time, I hate soup.  It’s either too hot or too slimy or it has hard to predict bits in it.  I don’t want soup.”

“Then what do you eat when you’re sick!” she demanded.  “I have very limited real-people life skills, and one of the best I have is preparing for when they get sick.  If you don’t have a favorite soup, how am I supposed to be your niece?”

Matt sighed.  He hadn’t asked for her to be his niece, but here she was and he didn’t want to hurt her.  For an assassin and a superheroine, she was really very fragile.  “You can listen to me,” he said.  “Let me tell you what I need.  I really dislike people acting like because I can’t see, I can’t do anything, or decide things for myself.  Give me that respect.”

“Alright,” she said, her whole demeanor shifting, like a giant step back, despite none of the air shifting or her heat moving away.  “What should I feed you if you get sick?  I like feeding people; I feed very competent people, it’s not about your eyes.  It’s how I build family.”

“Yoghurt,” he said.  “Plain, unsweetened.  If I can’t keep that down, toast with a little bit of honey.  Applesauce, but only if it’s been made super smooth, I can’t stand chunks.  Bananas, but only organic ones.  Rice, or other grains.  I just don’t like soup.”

Natasha’s heart quieted.  Unlike Skye, that was a good thing in her.  He’d discovered her resting heart beat was only a touch above audible, and if she sounded at all normal, she was panicking.  It was sweet of her to want to know how to care for him, he could admit, as long as she stopped bugging him about soups.  He said goodbye and left to go to the office.

He could hear Foggy and Karen before he reached the door, but he thought that was maybe less about superpowers and more about the soundproofing of the front office.

“Bad time to mention the phones?” he heard Foggy ask.  “All I hear when I try to dial is a bunch of clicks.  Could be the machines plotting, but I don't speak computer overlord.”

“No, it's the rats,” Karen told him as Matt reached for the door.

“The who what now?” Foggy asked with a note of panic as Matt stepped in.

“They chewed through the main line.  Phone guy's working on it now.  Exterminator's Monday.”

“We have rats now? I'm never sleeping here again!” Foggy insisted with a shudder Matt could practically feel.

“Then there's an upside,” he said, just to be a tiny bit of a dick to his friend.  Fortunately for him, a new client interrupted whatever retaliation Foggy felt like dishing out.

“Excuse,” she said, “Is this Señor Foggy law?”

Elena Cardenas had been referred from Bess Mahoney, and for once Matt felt okay with Foggy supporting Bess’s cigar habit.  It helped to have Karen taking notes, especially since she knew a certain amount of Spanish.  She translated Mrs. Cardenas’ story about her landlord, Armand Tully, trying to convert her rent controlled apartment to condos and hiring workers to destroy the walls with sledgehammers.  Karen stumbled on the word martillos, and Matt picked it up for her.  From how her heart raced, he thought she did know the word… in it’s use for a gun’s firing pin.  She had every reason to be scared of people with guns going into people’s homes.  She offered to let him take the translations, but he deferred.

“I like listening to your voice,” he said, although what he meant was that having her helping them was calming Mrs. Cardenas down more than two men alone would.  And he wanted to have her there for her impressions too.  Foggy scoffed under his breath and Matt fought down a smile.  He wasn’t the Casanova Foggy thought he was, but it was always funny when Foggy thought Matt was flirting.

Mrs. Cardenas described unlivable conditions, no running water, no electricity.  The police turned them away, telling them is was a city issue.  That was stuff he thought he’d hear about happening in some kleptocratic third world nation, not in New York City.  Foggy brought up pressuring Tully for a bigger payout, and Matt near about gaped.  The Nelsons lived in the Kitchen.  He knew nobody wanted to lose their rent control, let alone  _ moving _ .  He felt a tiny bit justified in telling her Foggy would talk to Tully’s lawyers.  Tully’s lawyers at Landman and Zack.  The place they left and that Foggy held as the ultimate symbol of escaping a life of cruel logic and bottom lines.

“You can’t send me to L and Z alone!” Foggy protested.  “They’ll shark attack me.  Look at me, I’m delicious!”

“Well, take Karen,” Matt said, rolling his eyes.  Foggy stumbled an invitation and Karen teased him about getting to watch a shark feeding.  Matt joked back and then ducked out.

<^>

Foggy opened the doors to Landman and Zack for Karen, and stepped in.  Hiding the nervous tension, he smiled as she joked with him about how futuristic the lobby looked.  He was grateful Karen was returning his favorite method of mood lightening and distraction, but his gut was a swirl of fear, regret, loathing and anger.  This place was so close to having been his biggest nightmare and greatest dream.  So close to what Rosalind wanted for him.  So close to what he almost let himself believe he wanted for himself.

It made him sick at his stomach just thinking about it.

Of course, because the Universe loved shitting on Foggy Nelson, Mr. Tully’s lawyer was none other than Marci Stahl.  Who, because she also loved shitting on Foggy Nelson, still called him Foggy Bear.  In front of Karen.  Who ended up defending Mrs. Cardenas’ name from Marci’s racist butchering of it while Foggy was still stalled out on Marci being his opponent.  And Matt, who had promised to take all cases against Marci, was nowhere to be seen, because he took the easy route of cadging incident reports out of a guy whose own mother wanted Tully behind bars.  Which was kinda freaking typical.

Then, Marci made the one mistake she never should have… she made him mad.  He hated it when lazy lawyers tried to lever their opponents into making the case for them by making a bad deal seem like the only deal.  She knew that.  She still did it, leaning on every button he’d foolishly revealed to her when they were close.  Pushing at his relationship with Matt was one thing, he’d always known she was jealous of how close they were, but to make his own ethical choice seem stupid?  To insult his client?  It pissed him off, and Foggy Nelson was never a better lawyer than when he was angry.

“Marci,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm, “convincing my client to agree to agree to your terms… that’s your job, and I’m not going to do it for you.  See, you think there are only two options; these tenants take the pay out and leave or leave without taking it.  But given how long they’ve put up with Tully’s bullshit, I think you’re actually afraid that  _ Mrs. Cardenas  _ and her neighbors will find a way to eke by.  And short of physically and _very illegally_ forcing these tenants from their rent controlled homes, Armand Tully loses his condos.  Your firm loses Tully.  And that’s very bad for business.”

Marci tried to scoff, but there was fear in her eyes as she rolled them.

“You want me and my client to think that you’re doing us a favor, that we have no leverage,” Foggy said, leaning into that fear, “when really, we have all of it.  So we will see you in court, where I will absolutely  _ dismantle  _ you, from the top of your salon blowout to the bottom of your overpriced pumps.”

“You would have killed it here, Foggy Bear,” Marci called out as he pushed past her to leave.  “You never should have left.”

“You never should have signed on, Marce,” he said regretfully.  “You were really something back in the day.  When you had a soul.”

“Foggy Bear?” Karen asked as they stepped out of Marci’s reach.

“We used to date.”

“You dated  _ that _ ?” she asked in horror.

“Yep,” Foggy said, his anxiety settling back in like a familiar blanket.  “Let’s step a little faster.”

<^>

Skye stepped into the meeting room carefully.  She’d let Vladimir and Anatoly pick home turf because Matt was hiding on the roof with a walkie and her team was ready to bust in at a moment’s notice.  She’d left Natasha at home because she made the other Russians more nervous than was helpful.

“So, Baba Osinova said you had terms?”

“Da,” Vladimir said.  Skye noted the shifts of power.  In private, just them, Anatoly took the lead.  Here, it was Vladimir.  “We are not ready to bow to a new Pakhan.  But we can… work with a new brother.  Because Fisk has become… dangerous.  He killed the lieutenant I sent to see if he could offer better than you.  Until Fisk is dead, we will work with you.  Then, we will see.”

“I can’t promise dead,” Skye said.  “I want him arrested and in jail.  But I know many jails that are a lot less… cardboard, shall we say, that we can put him in if it becomes necessary.  Dead is only acceptable if it’s self defense or defense of others.  That’s not negotiable.”

“Then until you have Fisk.  Then we talk about something larger.”

“Agreed,” Skye said with a nod.  She tilted her head sort of sideways to keep her eyes on them, the way Natasha and her sisters had showed her.  

They agreed to meeting places and tactics, and Skye signalled for FitzSimmons to bring in a crate of ICER rifles and pistols.  Any concern she had for how the two would handle the environment vanished when Simmons slapped a three-time killer’s hands off the rifle safety with a lecture on listening to instructions when handling high tech armaments.

“If it sweetens that future talk any,” she said, demonstrating the magazine catch, “I have been asked to tell you that playing nice with me can earn you the friendship of Las Vegas and the Kikimora.  Veronica is my niece.”

“Are all your nieces killers?” Vladimir asked with an exasperated sigh.

“No,” Skye told him with a grin.  “Galochka is a nun.  So… they _ are _ all terrifying.  Scary people run in our family.”

“And are you a scary person?” Anatoly asked.  Skye got the feeling he was flirting, awkwardly.

“Not compared to them,” she said casually.  “I’m just a shit-stirrer.”

“You cause trouble?” he asked.

“Dude,” Skye laughed.  “Trouble is my middle name.”

“Good,” Vladimir said, interrupting any form of further flirting his brother could try.  “We’ll need trouble to take down Fisk and his pet yashcheritsy.  They killed Piotr and tried to frame the Devil.  I don’t appreciate being made the fool.”

“Turk has information,” one of the Ranskahov’s men called.  “Do we move tonight?”

“Da,” Vladimir said with a feral grin.  “Call your people, Trouble.  He will pay.”

Skye whistled loudly and several things happened at once.  Matt slipped in an upper window and ran near silently across the beams.  A guard led in a blind Asian guy.  Vladimir frowned and started to yell about something.  The blind guy raised a plastic controller.

The world exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Dyadya Matvey: Uncle Matthew  
> Pakhan: a Boss in the Bratva  
> Yashcheritsy: lizard or other reptile, cold-blooded person
> 
> Notes:  
> Rent control, the practice of contractually promising that rents cannot be raised on an apartment, is both rare and highly coveted in New York. Families pass on rent-controlled apartments in wills. Being forced out breaks the rent control and allows the price to be raised. Foggy makes a practical suggestion in pushing for a fair payout, but the value of staying put and also keeping a community together is what Elena and Matt are connecting over.
> 
> In the show, Marci refers to Mrs. Cardenas as Mrs. Carnitas (akin to Mrs. Shredded Pork for non-Spanish speakers) and Karen corrects her. Foggy at that point still looks like a fish being dragged onto a boat because of Marci being the lawyer he's taking on, so I don't judge him too harshly for not standing up for Elena before Karen does it. I do judge Marci harshly for saying it.
> 
> Skye knows the man Jemma scolds is a three-time killer because Russian prison/gang tats read like a criminal resume. Jemma does not know that, nor would she care, she only cares that the moron was going to shoot someone full of dendrotoxin on accident.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Not true,” the woman said. “I think people who survive their world ending are badasses. Whatever they have to do to survive it is sort of beside the point. When what motivated you to keep living vanishes, each heart beat is badass.”


	18. Condemed Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the world is on fire, things fall apart before they can fall together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Tsita, Beth_Mac, QueenOfTheQuill, Shadows_of_Shemai, ValkyriePhoenix, ClockWeasel, hhhellcat, Selene_Aduial, KillerLaurel, Matlida_Nicki, nemohana, SionnachOiche3, and the six new kudo-ers!

Matt’s head was killing him.  Every bone hurt with bruises, every muscle screamed.  His senses were chaos and fire.  Someone was screaming for Vladimir, and Vladimir was screaming for Anatoly, and Skye was screaming for him.  Well, she was saying his name from a distance of more than thirty feet, but the force was the same.

“Skye!”  He coughed.  The world shuddered and he forced it back into orderly lines of air current, ground vibration, smells, and sound.  “I’m fine.”

“Me too,” she said, limping over to him.  “We’ll survive this.  Where’s Jemma?”

“Back corner, behind some drywall that fell.  Fitz is that way and it’s not good.”

“Call May,” Skye said and went to retrieve her friend.

“Tolya!  Tolya!” Vladimir cried.  Matt staggered over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“You masked bastard, you did this.  If we never tried to deal with you, Fisk would not have done this.  My brother would be alive.”

“Maybe,” Matt said.  He knew what it was to want someone to blame.  He also knew how destructive that desire could get.  The memory of a near miss from his own past hit his face like a splash of cheap cologne and expensive champagne.  “And maybe Fisk would have found a reason no matter what you did.  Blame the man who did this, and honor your brother.”

Vladimir roared in rage and his fist caught Matt in the shoulder, driving him to step back and stumble over some debris.  Matt let Vladimir vent the anger on punches with more effort than force in them, and slowly took him outside.  He gave the Russian just enough resistance to feel like he was actually doing something, but not enough to hurt him.

“Stop, hands in the air!” a cop yelled and Matt froze.  Vladimir went sailing past him and hit a wall.  Matt winced and turned to check on him when the cops yelled again.  “Don’t you fucking move!  I will shoot, you son of a bitch.  Interlace your fingers and put your hands behind your head.”

“He’s been hurt,” Matt tried, slowly putting his hands up.  “He needs medical care.”

“First, I’m taking you in, you maniac,” the officer said and cuffed Matt.  Then they started talking about killing Vladimir and witnesses and orders and Matt felt his stomach drop.  A well-placed roundhouse kick disarmed the nearest officer, but not before a shot went off and Vladimir screamed.  Matt staggered a bit and prepared to strike again when the soft puffing sound of an ICER stopped him.

“I assume we’re not getting help from the locals,” his sister said with a dry, tired tone.  “Simmons just got done treating Fitz for a head wound, but she’s not doing so hot.  I left her with a beacon for our teams to do an evac, and she’s got her full field kit with her if he starts to fade again.  You and I need to keep moving.”

“What about Vladimir?” Matt asked her, kneeling.  “He’s not in good shape.”

“I’ll help carry him.  I can’t do it alone, though.”  She sighed and hissed and Matt could hear the old ship sound of cracked ribs.

“You can’t do it at all,” he told her.  “You have cracked ribs.”

“Fucking perfect,” she sighed and went back in.  He heard her talking with Jemma, something about a holographic camouflage, a genetic test, and a medical support brace.  When she came back, the air whistled past her ribs like satin or metal and little electrical sizzles danced across his impression of her torso.  “If you can get him up, I can guide you.  The brace is great for speeding this crap up, but it’s shit for letting me do stuff now.”

Matt hauled Vladimir over his shoulders and nodded.  They had a long way to go.

<^>

Vladimir groaned as he was set on the ground in some dusty warehouse filled with odd, flickering shadows that danced and cast everything into a terrifying nightmare world.

“Don’t move,” the Devil said, firelight from the boarded window making that name seem so much more accurate.  “You’ve been shot.”

“Tebya ne ebut, ti ne podmakhivai.  Vy dolzhny imet' pozvol'te mne umeret' ryadom s moim bratom.  K chortoo.”

“Well, that does sound bad,” the man said, “but I don’t speak asshole.”

“That’s not asshole,” his sister said, and Vladimir fought down a bitter regret that it wasn’t Anatoly here.  Anatoly liked this suka enough to deal with her brother.  “It’s self sacrificing dipshit, and I’m fluent.  Listen up, Vladimir.  You’ve been shot, my ribs are cracked, and my brother is the most likely to get you out of here in one piece.  You want to get out of here in one piece, because my medic has something with a chance to save Tolya.”

“Tolya is dead,” Vladimir hissed, but he saw the masked man rear back.

“You are not giving _ anyone  _ GH 325,” he said with a heat Vladimir hadn’t heard from him before.  “Not with what it’s done to people.  We talk about that in interrogations just to mess with people, but it was never a viable plan.  I barely forgave Jemma for giving it to you, and we still don’t know why it didn’t make you insane.”

“But it’s a  _ chance _ ,” she insisted.  “We’ll give Vlad the full disclosure and see if he wants to go that route.  We might have gotten him killed, it’s only fair to offer something we know can fix it.”

“I’ll take it,” Vladimir said quickly, trying to sit.  “Bozhe moi, that hurts.”

“Yeah, gunshots do that,” Skye said, pressing a bandage made from a jacket against the hole.  “Hand here, keep the pressure up.  I’m going to look for medical supplies.”

“Your sister,” he said as she moved away.  The masked bastard tilted his head like a bird.  “One hell of woman.  She not lying?  About Tolya?”

“No,” he said sourly.  “But it’s dangerous.  After she told me I watched all the trial videos they had on record.  It… she was an anomaly, and I thank God for that.  Are you really sure you want to risk…. The patients started carving symbols and things into the walls, hypergraphia, aphasia, it… I wouldn’t say if I could have been there when she took it I’d try to stop it, but it’s a close question.”

“I don’t care if it gives me back my brother,” Vladimir said.  “If you try to stop her giving him back to me, you can go suck a thousand dicks.”

“Stop pulling each other’s pigtails,” the agent ordered as she set the box beside him.  “This will hurt.  Hold him still, Claire said…”

“I know,” the Devil said.  “I heard.”

“She was thirty or forty feet away!” Vladimir protested before the white-hot pain lanced through his body and nothing mattered except screaming.  He choked back sobs as the heat spluttered and died along his side, determined not to show weakness.

“Your toxic masculinity is showing,” the Devil drawled.  “That hurt, showing pain is a normal human reaction.  Or so I’m told.  It’s not like you actually have a reputation to protect among us.  I think you’re a self centered piece of human scum and don’t care about anybody’s pain but your own, and Quake doesn’t think anyone who hasn’t saved the world at least once is any kind of badass.”

“Not true,” the woman said.  “I think people who survive their world ending are badasses.  Whatever they have to do to survive it is sort of beside the point.  When what motivated you to keep living vanishes, each heart beat is badass.”

Vladimir smiled ruefully.  She had a way of clearing away the nonsense and making the world clean and simple.  “Then I am badass until you give me back Tolya.  Sit me up, we have work to do.”

<^>

Skye slipped up behind the intruding cop as Matt knocked the gun out of his hand and flipped him into an arm lock.  Her brother certainly made up for in skill what he lacked in tact.

“Who do you work for?”

“The City of New York.”

“I’m gonna ask again, and I want you to think about your answer, because if you lie to me, your night is going to get a hell of a lot worse,” Matt growled into the cop’s ear.  “Who do you work for?”

“The City of New York,” the guy sobbed.  “I got two months on the job… please…”

“Let up, he’s not lying,” she told her brother.

“I thought he was the one with the magic truth sight,” Vladimir said from the floor.

“I have skills too, now shut up.  The less you say in front of an honest cop, the better for everyone,” she ordered.  Vladimir clearly didn’t like that, but at least he disliked it quietly.  She pulled the walkie talkie from the cop’s belt and handed it to him on the arm not held awkwardly behind him.  “Call central.  Tell them it was a false alarm.  Stray cat or something, no need for backup.”

“Then you’ll let me walk?”

“Eventually,” Matt growled.

“Down, Cujo,” she scolded.  She checked the guy’s badge.  “Officer Sullivan, I’m an Agent of SHIELD.  You stumbled into something way too big for you.  I’m going to do what I have to tonight to keep as many people safe as I can.  Stick close, that includes you.  Walk, and that gets a lot harder.  See where I’m going?”

He nodded, and she let go of his wrist.  “Central, post 41K…” he took a slow, shuddering breath.  “False alarm, couple of teens making out, they’re headed home.”

A long line of static bit the air.  Skye thumped her head with the meat of her palm.  Trained liar this guy was not.  “10-4 Post 41.  10-13, abandoned building 47th and 12th.”  The line went dead, obviously blocked to keep them from hearing the plans.

“FUCK,” Skye swore, loudly.  The cop started to shake.  “Crap, grab him he’s dropping!”

“Why’d that suka pass out?” Vladimir asked.

“Because he was too scared to lie well and dispatch sent out a call to assist an officer.  Also, my brother is a dramatic asshole who terrified the poor guy half to death before that.”  She glared at Matt despite knowing that would do no good.

“It’s not my fault the honest cops are nervous wrecks on the night Fisk blows the city to kingdom come!”

“I can’t even with you,” she said and put the cop in rescue position.  “Go be a gargoyle or something, I need space.”

“He is trying, you know,” Vladimir told her as Matt stalked off.  “To be a good man.  It’s not easy, for men like us.”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Skye said to cut off the topic of her family struggle.  “If you die tonight, I can’t guarantee there’ll be enough left to put back together again.  I’d like to record you turning witness on Fisk.  At least if this goes bad my team can wrap him up after we’re gone.”

Vladimir nodded and Skye pulled out her phone and set it to upload the recording to her private cloud server.  She pressed play and Vladimir started to talk.  He sounded so bitter about how Fisk had played them, built their confidence, complimented them.  it seemed familiar in a way she couldn’t pinpoint, but the information about the Chinese heroin ring was too important to interrupt to go searching for a loose hunch.

“The money man, Leland Owlsley, you’re sure he has the records we need?” she asked.

“Da, sure as snow in Sibir.  What now?”

“Now?  We get the fuck out of here.  I need options Bro.”

“Doors are covered by ten officers, four dogs.  We might be able to fight our way through but the city’s a mess right now.  The roof is high enough and close enough that you and I could make it out on the high road, but no way Vladimir makes it in his condition.  There’s a path in the basement, no idea if it’s wide enough but it’s the only other way out.  Partly covered if it is wide enough.”

“How’d you know that?” Vladimir slurred.

“Lucky guess,” Skye said harshly.  “Clear the basement, I’ll get Vlad and Sullivan downstairs and we’ll meet you.”

“Time to wake the bacon, then?” Vladimir asked, taking her hand to haul himself moderately upright.

“Call him bacon again and I’ll shoot you,” Skye said, tapping Sullivan's face.  

“You’d shoot me in front of honest cop?”

“Only a little, I do still need you, but I don’t need your shoulder.  You still have enough red in your ledger that I won’t feel too bad about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Tebya ne ebut, ti ne podmakhivai. Vy dolzhny imet' pozvol'te mne umeret' ryadom s moim bratom. K chortoo.: Mind your own fucking business. You should have let me die by my brother. Go to Hell.  
> Suka: bitch.  
> Bozhe moi: my God.  
> 10-4: message received.  
> 10-13: assist an officer.  
> Sibir: Siberia.
> 
> Notes:  
> I'm sorry about Tolya, but I'm going to fix it, I promise, I just couldn't make season 1 work if I kept our Russian Brothers in it.
> 
> The near miss Matt references is that time when Electra tried to get him to kill the guy who shot his dad.
> 
> I did my best to capture what Vladimir was saying in the cussing, but some didn't work/I couldn't translate, so the middle section is my own.
> 
> GH 325 was canonically stated to have the side effects listed. Matt is super concerned about Skye offering it to someone, knowing how badly it can hurt people. Skye is super not concerned because she understands how Vladimir thinks and she knows not offering to save Tolya is a fast way to a slow suicide for Vladimir. This has a chance to save both brothers.
> 
> Matt displays a depressed pain reaction in canon. I blame the chemicals, which I also assume gave him some kind of minor healing factor to explain how he's not dead seven ways from Sunday after the events of The Cut Man. He says 'or so I'm told,' because he knows he himself does not have a normal reaction. What he means and what Vladimir understands, however, are totally different things.
> 
> Skye's hunch during Vladimir's testimony is about how Fisk uses techniques not unlike those predators use when grooming children for later abuse. Kids in the system tend to see a wide range of creepers, and Skye is at least aware of what grooming looks like, even if she was never targeted herself. 
> 
> Police officers in America are sometimes called 'pigs' as a slur, and the stereotype is fat, lazy men. Vladimir is continuing that use by referring to Sullivan as bacon, a fatty pork product. Skye is not putting up with it because Sullivan has so far proven to be a good man, even if he's not a great cop.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> They clung to each other like it was a life preserver in a choppy ocean, and prayed for salvation to distant gods.


	19. Condemned Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping the warehouse takes it's toll, and not everyone makes it out in one piece.
> 
> NOTE THE TAG UPDATES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Beth_Mac, Selene_Aduial, Shadows_of_Shemai, ValkyriePhoenix, SionnachOiche3, hhhellcat, nemohana, and the 3 new kudo-ers!

Matt was on the stairs when he heard the police radio crackle and flare to the first sign of life since the disastrous fake-out.

“I want to speak to the man in the mask, please.”

He turned and sprinted back to where his sister had her phone out and was recording the sounds from the set, he assumed.  At least, she had a small, hard thing in her hand beside the static that signaled a radio.  “Are you there?  Can you hear me?”

“Keep calm, Matt,” she subvocalized as she handed him the radio.  “I’m right here.”

“Who is this?” Matt asked.

“I think you know,” Fisk said.  “You’ve been asking about me.  I think it’s time we spoke.”

“Get him to say his name,” Skye whispered, a breath of sound barely above the crackle of the background.  Matt nodded.

“Say your name.”

“You first,” Fisk challenged.  Matt kept quiet.  “That’s what I thought.  We have a lot in common, you and I.”

“Stay calm,” Skye urged.  “Play into it.”

“You think so?” Matt asked.

“You’ll tell yourself we don’t, of course,” Fisk said calmly, his tough voice scraping at Matt’s nerves.  “But we both want to save this city.  Only I want to do it on a scale that _matters_.”

“Whoever destroys a soul, it is as if he destroyed an entire world,” Matt quoted, earning a huff of silent laughter from his sister.  Hey, he couldn’t help it if some of the good stuff came from the Talmud, and legal texts were always interesting.

“Life is not a fairy tale, young man,” Fisk chided and Matt bit down a growl.  “Not everyone deserves a happy ending.”

“I am going to find you,” Mat said, his mind intent on the steady thumping of Skye’s heart.  “”And I will get justice for the people you hurt.”

“No you’re not,” Fisk said as though Matt were a child.  “It’s not that I don’t admire what you’re trying to do, to change the world with nothing but desire and your own two hands, secure in the knowledge that you’re doing the right thing.  The only thing.  That’s something that I do understand.”

“He’s monologuing,” Skye said quietly, handing him the phone, “Come on, downstairs.”

Matt walked down the wooden steps as Fisk tried to paint them as equals in their desires and needs.  That Matt’s life hung on a narrative thread, doomed to snap when some authorial fate declared it.

“It is going to take a lot more than a voice on a radio to stop me,” Matt told him as he bent to shift wooden planks.

“Oh, it’s not me you have to worry about,” Fisk chuckled.  “It’s the city you just blew the hell out of.”

“I didn’t.  You did,” Matt said.  Please, he prayed, let him be stupid enough to fall for it.

“Oh, I don’t know.  You’re running around in a mask.  Holing up with a known felon in the wake of a series of bombings.  So I think people might not side with you.  But it doesn’t have to be that way.  The Russian, is he still alive?”  Matt chuckled.

“Of course he is.  I don’t kill.  Which is where the difference between us lies.”

“This is a one time offer,” Fisk snarled as Matt heaved the heaviest bit of debris aside.  “Kill the Russian and we’ll call the night a push.  You know what he’s done.  To women, to children.  To the people of this city you claim to care about.  But do you know how much he enjoyed it?”

“Thank you for confirming how important he is,” Matt said.  “Must worry you, thinking about what he might tell me.”

“That just means he hasn’t told you anything yet.  You’re just a boy playing at being a hero.”

“I’m not a hero,” Matt told him.  “I’m just a kid from the Kitchen who decided to do something about people like you.”

“And that’s what makes you dangerous.  It’s not the skills, it’s not the mask, it’s your ideology.  The lone man who thinks he can make a difference.  I admire your conviction, even if it runs counter to my own.  You were a worthy adversary, but your part ends tonight.”

“I’m not alone,” Mat growled, “and you’re about to learn why you shouldn’t start fights you can’t finish.”

He tossed the radio into a wall, hard, and heaved up the metal of the grate.  Matt hadn’t cleared the grate from the floor when he heard the shots.  Abandoning the metal with a clang, he ran up the stairs two at a time to grab the bleeding Russian as his sister angrily put bullets in the feet of the two newcomers.  With them down, she rushed to patch the  knife hole in the cop’s neck, but Matt put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s too late.  He’s gone, it was clean, he wouldn’t have felt it.  Come on, we need to go.”

“Fucking hell,” she swore softly.  “I can’t do this.”

“This is not how I die,” Vladimir told them.  “Come, Malo Sestra, we go now.”

In the basement, the three of them hauled the grate up and off to one side.  Skye balanced the edges so the last in could pull it shut behind them.

<^>

Vladimir dropped with a splash the last few feet as above him the little sister shuttered the lights with the metal grate that had taken three of them to lift.  His boots filled with water and his side burned, alerting him to his own body’s weakness.  Blood caked his skin, sticky and hot in the chill night air.

“Where are we?” he demanded.

“Access tunnels,” the devil said.  “The city was built on a network of these, most of them sealed up years ago.  This way.”

Vladimir fought to keep his feet as he followed, but their female companion caught him around the waist and held him steady.  He thought about shoving her off, but she was also shaking, her shoulder in his armpit leaning on him as much as holding him up.  He could help her, she had the witchery that would save Toyla.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” the masked man said, almost like a prayer, a bargain with the Lord.  He seemed so human now, when he had felt so inhuman to fight.  “Find a way to the streets.”

“Lock pick,” the girl leaning into Vladimir said, passing over a small disk of metal and plastic.

“Get down!” her brother hissed, shoving her away.  Vladimir knew that panic and hauled at her as she fought to stand up.  The man moved unnaturally fast in the light of muzzle flares, dodging bullets and breaking bones.  Vladimir caught a fallen gun and picked off the last of them, but he couldn’t seem to find the will to stand.

“We don’t have time for this,” the girl said, pulling at his arm.

“There’s five more coming,” the devil confirmed.

“I think…”  He coughed, and blood bubbled thick and sweet past his lips.  “I stay.”

“We can still make it,” she insisted.

“You turned state’s evidence on Fisk,” the devil reminded him.  “We could put him away.”

“He controls all police, all judges,” Vladimir sighed.  “There is only one way to stop him.  You know this.”

“No,” the girl said at the same time the devil insisted he wasn’t a killer.  Vladimir pushed her aside to stare into what should be eyes on a man.

“The moment you put on that mask, you get into cage with animals.  Like me.  Animals do not stop fighting, not until one of them is dead.”  He fought his way to his feet.  “What Fisk did to me, he will do to you, to your sister, to everyone you care about.  Will you feel the same way then?  Or will you be a man, and do what you know you must do?”

“We can take down Owlsley,” the girl said.

“It will not be enough,” Vladimir sighed, looking at the Devil, never losing his focus on that creature’s eyeless sockets.  “You know that now, don’t you?  Go.”

The black-clad devil growled in rage and  kicked the lock off.  He grabbed his protesting sister and they went.  Vladimir nodded to himself.  The devil would see that Fisk got his due.  He began to hum as men came down into the tunnels.

“Po tanku vdarila bolvanka,

Proshchay rodimyy ekipazh,

Chetyre trupa vozle tanka

Dopolnyat utrenniy peyzazh.”

He kicked at one of the four corpses that were not at all complementing this hell scape.

“Mashina plamenem obyata,

Vot-vot rvanet boyekomplekt.

A zhit' tak khochetsya, rebyata,

I vylezat' uzh mochi net.”

There really was no way out.  There never was, he'd just fooled himself for a while with girls and drink.  Men rounded the corner, bullets flew.  Something exploded.  The world went blank.  Vladimir thought of his brother.

“Wake up sleepy head,” a soft voice teased.  Vladimir blinked at the white, pristine place he was in.

“Ya v ray?” he asked.

“Well, you’re the first person in the history of ever to call SHIELD medical ‘heaven’ so,” teased a familiar voice.  He blinked at the Devil’s sister.  “If you thought we weren’t coming back for you, Vlad, you don’t know my family  _ at all _ .”

<^>

Skye had fought Matt on leaving until she got up the steps and Matt handed her to May, and Trip and Coulson were arming up in the back of their van.  Then she relaxed and let her team pull the remains of the stubborn criminal out of the tunnels.  It might take weeks to repair the damage, but he would make it.  Especially since Jemma reported the genetic marker they thought enabled GH 325 use was in Anatoly, so it was probably in Vladimir too.  In the meantime, the city had been blown half to hell and the news seemed convinced Matt had done it, as well as shoot some cop.  The inaccuracy of that last claim was funny in a dark way since about the only fighting type thing that old bastard of a teacher never taught Matt was sniping.  That was her other brother’s forte.  She really had her work cut out for her, but not tonight.

Tonight, she and Matt crawled into his silk sheets together, unwilling to be more than a foot from each other after so many close calls.   She woke to him crying in his sleep, half mumbled apologies and tears on his lips.  She woke him gently and cleaned his face.  She dreamed of Ian Quinn shooting her, Coulson always just a hair too far away to save her, Bucky just a second too slow with the serum, Jemma just a moment too hesitant about the barometric pressure chamber.  Matt woke her and held her hair as she vomited swallowed snot and fear.  They clung to each other like it was a life preserver in a choppy ocean, and prayed for salvation to distant gods.

She woke to soft, firm hands prying her up and a bowl of cereal being pressed into her palms.

“Eat, Tetushka,” Natasha said.  “You need your strength.”

“Processed sugar does not give her strength,” Matt grumbled from beside Skye, poking at applesauce smoother than silk.  “It gives her cavities.”

“Shows what you know,” Skye said, scooping up a spoon of nothing but marshmallows.  “I don’t need physical strength right now, I need emotional strength.  And processed sugar that was a gift from a family member does give me that.  Eat your applesauce.”

“That’s my line,” Bucky said from the door.  “And you’ll be eating protein and fruit when we get you back to the Tower for Helen to check you, I’m just not rude enough to cook things that have a strong scent in this apartment.”

“Matt… um,” Skye started trying to explain.

“No need,” her first brother said, as if reading her mind.  “We talked while you were asleep.  Sergeant Barnes is a part of the recovery action the Avengers are leading.  Also, we go to the same church, so we’ve met.  You chose well when you picked him to adopt.”

“I’d say we all picked well,” Natasha said, then clapped her hands lightly enough that Matt didn’t wince.  “Now, eat.  If you both finish your breakfasts, I have some of Barton’s snickerdoodles in the kitchen.”

“Matt,” Skye said solemnly, “that’s a worthy bribe.  Eat your damn baby food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Malo Sestra: Little Sister  
> Ya v ray?: Am I in heaven?  
> Tetushka: Auntie
> 
> Notes:  
> Quite a lot of the lines for the Fisk/Matt conversation were ripped from the show, because Fisk is so well written there and I have a hard time with him.
> 
> The line that Matt quotes is from the Talmud, a book of Jewish law. Skye thinks he's being funny and throwing the trail by quoting a Jewish text, but Matt's just a law nerd. Of course, Fisk equating it to a fairy tale just signed himself up for a world of righteous hurt.
> 
> Matt is totally stealing Steve's line because it fits.
> 
> Vladimir is really fading here and conflating the mythology of the Devil with Matt's costume. He's in better shape than he was in the show, but that's a very very low bar.
> 
> The song he sings in the show is "On the Field the Tanks Rumbled" and it's a song about war and death. The paragraphs I used are, in English: "On the tank/Farewell to my beloved crew/Four corpses near the tank/Complement the morning landscape." and "The car is in flames/That's about to explode ammunition./I want to live so much, guys,/And there is no way to get out right now."
> 
> There is a time-skip in Vladimir's POV that is not continued into Skye's, so you're aware. The part where he wakes up in SHIELD medical will take place AFTER the events of Season One of Daredevil wrap up.
> 
> I am pulling Author Fiat that Jemma would find the Inhuman DNA marker and be able to identify that it enables safe GH 325 use.
> 
> Sleeping together like this is not a sexual thing, it's more like when puppies curl up with their siblings than anything. They know this, the people who matter to them know this, and that's all they care about.
> 
> Matt's recovery food of choice is super-smooth applesauce with no added sugar. It's basically organic baby food applesauce and he feels no shame in that. Natasha is just happy he's eating and Skye is only giving him token grief because she's his little sister.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "I was in a production of Les Mis with a guy who fought in Desert Storm, I know this.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt continues to follow threads, Skye continues to protect him, and someone from Matt's past just made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Beth_Mac, hhhellcat, ValkyriePhoenix, Shadows_of_Shemai, Selene_Aduial, nemohana, and the 3 new kudoers.

The office had taken a severe turn for the depressing when Matt crawled into work after scarfing down an inordinate amount of cookies.  Not even the lingering taste of cinnamon and ginger could keep Matt’s shoulders from slumping.  Foggy had been injured in the bombings, the papers were smearing Matt for it, and Karen had a nervous habit of grinding her teeth like the slow crush of gravel in a trash compactor.  No new clients came in, everyone was still jumpy from the attack, and the Cardenas case was stalled while the city scrambled to deal with the damage done by the bombs.  The sun had set hours ago by the feel of the heat from the windows when everything came perilously close to a different kind of explosion.

“Devil my shapely Irish ass,” Foggy scoffed, tossing a cheaply printed special edition on the desk.  “They’ve got the wrong guy!  What I wouldn’t give to slap a libel lawsuit on those jerks at the Bulletin.”

“Foggy!” Karen scolded.  “Ben is just doing his job.”

“He’s doing it wrong!”  Foggy picked up his baseball and started tossing it up in the air and catching it, a favorite stress relief.  “Look at that cheesy mask, there’s no way someone could fire a gun effectively while wearing that.  And, look at this line here, he talks about when that cop got shot, how they were both looking at the building the guy was hiding in, when the cop falls… **forward**.  Gunshots knock you  _ backwards _ .  I was in a production of Les Mis with a guy who fought in Desert Storm, I know this.”

“Maybe,” Karen hedged as Foggy hissed when a catch went badly.  “What do you think, Matt?”

“I think Foggy will pitching for the Mets by mid season.”

“I was being serious,” Karen said fondly.

“So was I,” he teased.  “Have you seen their bullpen?  In all honesty, yeah the damage, the injuries, to Foggy and Mrs. Cardenas, they piss me off.  But whoever this guy is or whoever the bomber was, they shouldn’t be tried and convicted in the press.  We’re lawyers, we know that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

“So if they catch him, and it went to court,” she asked, “and he hypothetically needed a lawyer, Nelson and Murdock would defend him?”

“Oh hell no,” Foggy said straight away.

“It would be his right,” Matt said.  He could feel Foggy’s disbelieving look, but Matt had been playing both sides of his soul long enough to separate lawyer from Devil.  He could practically feel Foggy’s disbelieving glare.  He could also hear the sudden nervous shift of Foggy’s gut when Foggy realized how close they were to a topic that could get Matt’s secret revealed to someone that they really hadn’t known that long, however much Karen felt like a part of their lives.

“Let’s end the evening on a happier note,” Karen suggested, and Matt was happy Foggy jumped to take her up on it, even at Matt’s expense.  The softball team thing was just the right level of ridiculous to pull them up out of the dark slump they’d fallen into over the course of the day.  They teased each other a bit and Foggy made an attempt at flirting that went over predictably poorly.

“Smooth,” Matt said with a laugh.

“Admittedly, I am a work in progress,” Foggy said wryly.  “Did you know Karen has mace on her keychain?”

“Is that a bad thing?” Matt asked, not answering Foggy’s question.  Telling him that mace cans were practically indistinguishable from any other metal tubes on keychains unless recently used was probably not going to go over well.  Neither would how often Matt  _ did  _ smell mace.

“Do you ever worry about her?” Foggy kept the answering a question with a question thing going.  “Like she’s not telling us something?”

“Everyone has secrets Foggy,” Matt said, gesturing at his face.  “I know that better than most.”

“I don’t,” Foggy said honestly.  “I keep other people’s secrets but I don’t have my own.  I’d like some.  Your kind.  I mean, not that type of your kind, I mean like Hottie McBurnerPhone.  At least I assume she’s hot.  Is she hot?  And is the other thing how you find all the hot women?”

“Claire isn’t a hook-up, she’s my nurse,” Matt said with an eye-roll.  “I can’t do regular hospitals.”

“Right, yes, because of the super illegal shit that got you framed for a cop-killing,” Foggy snarked.  “Of course you have a hot black ops nurse on your burner phone.”

“Because a regular hospital is hell for me, Fog.  I had a fever of a hundred and two once and faked being well to avoid the ER.  Skye punched my gall-bladder and made me throw up to get the school nurse to look at me so she’d get me treatment since I was too good at faking out the nuns.  I won’t go to a regular hospital unless I’m forced to.  Claire treats me in my apartment and I don’t ever feel like huffing bleach for the sweet release of death while she does it.”

“Oh,” Foggy said, his heart telling Matt he felt guilty for not knowing.

“I purposely don’t tell people Foggy,” Matt said gently.  “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

“Yeah, I get it, it’s all good buddy,” Foggy lied.  This sort of thing was harder than any fight.

<^>

Skye bent herself down low, her body curling compactly to avoid being spotted.  The Yakuza bodyguards were amazingly good at their jobs and even Matt had a hard time getting close enough to hear Owlsley in the echoes of the parking structure without being spotted.

Finally, they left.  Skye uncurled and moved to cover Matt as he interrogated Owlsley, staying out of the accountant’s line of sight.  Matt had a reputation as the lone vigilante, pushing back with more hope and grit than actual plan, and they were going to play that up as much as they could.  The questions weren’t yielding answers when she noticed Matt going fuzzy, losing his focus.  She moved out to the side, ready to intervene if it became necessary.  Matt didn’t wobble like that until his senses were killing him.  Owlsley noticed as she did and struck Matt with a taser.  A taser modified after market if the arcs were a clue.  Skye yelped and shot at Owlsley, he anger making her not care when the bullet missed his shoulder and cracked his car’s window.  She distantly noticed the spider web cracks of bulletproof glass and Owlsley got in his car and took off like a bat from hell.

“Come on, come on, wake up,” she muttered, barely above her breath.

“You gonna lie there in your girlie’s arms there or are you gonna get up?” a voice asked behind her.  She turned and glared at the old man it belonged to.

“Stick,” she hissed with venom.  “You’re the reason he lost his focus.  Why are you even here?”

“He left the guy a taser and a working thumb, that’s not on me,” Stick said to her before dismissing her to talk to Matt as he hauled himself upright.  “Jesus kid, I’m gone five minutes and you turn this place into a shit-show.”

“You were gone for twenty years,” Matt retorted.  “What’re you doing back in our city?”

“Your city?” Stick asked incredulously.  “Hell’s Kitchen hates your guts.  They have you pegged as a cop killer and some kind of a mad bomber.”

“I’m taking care of it,” Matt gritted out.  She could feel the tension in his back under her hand as Stick scoffed.  Her brother had always had sore spots a mile wide about his old mentor and now she knew why.  This old bastard was pushing every button that could be pushed and then some.

“Some old guy just lit you up,” Stick pointed out with a sneer.  “You ain’t taking care of  _ shit _ .”

“Why are you here?” Skye repeated.  “Answer me this time, or I’ll shoot you and let death sort it out.”

“To save you and everyone in the Kitchen from a horrible death.”

“Oh really, now?” she challenged.  A smirk like spilled snake-oil spread across his face.

“Well.  More or less.”

“I’m thinking I should more or less shoot you,” she growled, beginning a lunge.  Matt stopped her with one arm and she hissed in the back of her throat like a cat.

“When’d you pick up the tiger, Matty?” Stick sneered.  Almost everything he said was with a sneer, it seemed.  She’d only seen him once before he bailed on Matt, but that, Matt’s stories, and the bruises that abruptly stopped when Matt quit taking his ‘training’ lessons told her she didn’t like Stick one bit.  “I thought I raised you to have better taste.”

“You didn’t raise him,” Skye said, her voice low and even.  It was a fight to keep her heart loud enough not to scare Matt when every inch of her wanted to go silent and make the bastard swallow his own cane.  “Kindly don’t presume on any relationship you think you have.  It’s not there anymore.”

<^>

Stick grunted as the kid led them to an apartment.  Cushy, from the smells around it, not a lot of loose garbage in the alleys, a minimal amount of piss, nobody in the building was a chain smoker, shit that only mattered if the kid’d gone soft.

“Well this is a shithole,” he said, hoping for a reaction.  Matty never was what one would call hard to provoke.

“Watch your whore mouth old man,” said a voice from the kitchen and Stick jolted.  “Moya Dyadya Matvey has a very nice home.  Five escape routes, clean lines of sight, only one half-workable place for a sniper facing the windows, mostly hampered by the electronic billboard, and neighbors that don’t ask about how late he gets in but would report a dead body quickly.  It’s a good place.”

“Stick,” the girl from the garage said, saccharine sweet.  “Meet our niece Natasha.  She’s an assassin, so her assessments are odd, but accurate.”

“Attachments like these are gonna get you killed, kid,” Stick said with a shake of his head.  He had thought he’d drilled that in deep enough, but the bleeding heart always was the boy’s biggest weakness.

“Don’t be absurd,” the girl identified as Matty’s niece scoffed.  “ _ I’m  _ not going to kill Dyadya, and  _ Papa’s _ not going to kill Dyadya, and the only person stupid enough to kill someone under our protection who actually stands half a chance is my sister Yelena.  And I  _ will  _ put a bullet in Lena before I let her hurt my family.  Relax, Matvey, you look like you swallowed a lemon.”

“Natasha, can you give us a moment please?” the kid asked.  Stick felt the air shift from a graceful shrug, easier to identify now that he knew the stone quiet shape was a woman.  “Please don’t kill my teacher.”

“I have dibs anyway,” the girl beside Matty said, reaching for his hand.  “Tell your Papa that Matt and I will be late to brunch.  Thank you darling.”

“Of course,” Matty’s niece said before ghosting out of the apartment.  It was eerie how silent she was, almost like a Hand ninja.  If it weren’t for the abundant Russian and his understanding of the strong racial alliances within the Hand’s caste system, it would be a thought.

“You have a lot of women in here,” Stick commented, hoping to twinge the kid’s overdeveloped morality.  “When’s the one I haven’t met coming back?”

“Not anytime soon,” the kid said harshly.

“Good,” Stick said.  “Women are a distraction, like apartments, furniture,” he sniffed and tasted the air, feeling the currents from the bedroom.  “Woah.  Silk sheets?”

“Cotton feels like sandpaper on my skin,” Matty defended hotly.  Didn’t matter to Stick, it was just a slightly more aggressive form of whining and Matty always had been a whiner.

“You’d be better off sleeping on real sandpaper than surrounding yourself with all this bullshit.”  He waited for the girl to defend the kid, but apparently she’d decided to let him fight this battle alone.  Good for her, giving him the hard reality.  We all fight our battles alone.

“This is my life,” Matt snarled, for once showing real fire again.  “I made something of it, without you.  And that’s what really pisses you off, isn’t it?”

No, Matty, no,” Stick said, readying for the finishing touch.  “I’m proud of you, what you’ve done, what you’ve made of yourself, but surrounding yourself with this soft stuff, it isn’t living.  This is death.  Some day those silk sheets are going to crawl up behind you, wrap around your throat and choke you to death.  You’re a warrior.  A hero!  An heir of Sparta!”

“And?” asked the girl, butting in a day late and a dollar short.  Stick heard Matty’s heart thump strange and soft. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Les Mis: short for Les Miserables, a classic musical (opera? I think of it in terms of opera since so little is spoken, but eh) based on the book by the same name by Victor Hugo about Post-Revolutionary France.  
> Desert Storm: a US military action in the early 90's.  
> Bullpen: here, a reference to the baseball team's roster.  
> Mace: a brand name of pepper-spray, a personal use chemical weapon. It's legality is so-so, but lots of people still carry it.  
> Like a bat from hell: very quickly and unsafely.  
> Snake-oil: a phrase used to refer to a scam artist selling fake products or 'snake oil'.  
> Tiger: feisty woman.  
> Moya Dyadya Matvey: My uncle Matt
> 
> Notes:  
> Foggy's position is radically different because he knows Matt is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
> 
> The thing Foggy is discussing with the falling forward was a production error in the show. The guy falls the wrong direction (correct direction for where the shot really came from) while in Ben's line-of-sight, and Ben would have known which direction the bullet knock-back goes based on his resume.
> 
> Matt kept some parts of his situation secret from Foggy because he hates being treated differently. Foggy is still used to thinking that Matt has no secrets from him. That's creating tension between them that they are both trying to ignore like the emotionally constipated potatoes they are.
> 
> Tasers don't arc that theatrically in general, but that doesn't look dramatic and scary so tv shows will mod a safe arc to look scary and be mostly harmless. If a real taser with a functional amperage were strong enough to arc, it'd be on the edge of lethal.
> 
> Stick uses a TON of emotionally abusive techniques here, blaming Matt and minimizing his own negligence for starters. Skye backs him into a verbal corner with her skepticism and willingness to attack (many emotional abusers are at heart cowards who dislike targets that 'punch back' in any way) but it makes her less than reliable until she calms down.
> 
> Natasha lists things that are important in safe-houses. She was raised in a situation where those traits were the most important part of finding shelter, and things like functioning appliances and hot running water were practically luxuries.
> 
> Skye talking about being late for brunch is a code phrase. That's why it seems out of character for her. To Stick it fits with the story he's constructing in his head about how soft Matt's gotten.
> 
> Racism affects groups outside of America differently than inside, and in Asia differently than in Europe, and so on. The Hand is mainly seen in Daredevil as a Japanese group, and in Iron Fist as Chinese. I'm assuming that with both the 'faces' of the group being "traditionally" Asian (i.e. not South Asian, Mongolian, or from the Asiatic sections of Russia) that a Russian in the Hand would be rare and probably not given much power.
> 
> Stick can smell Skye, Nat, and a mix of Claire and Jemma that has gestalt-ed into one personal scent because both smell like medical supplies and Matt's blood. Matt's not too happy he had to be patched up by friends on his own sofa either, so he's terse even though nothing has happened with either.
> 
> Skye isn't abandoning Matt in the argument, she's letting him face his own fight and tell her when he wants help. It's a boundary that has likely been crossed too many times by well meaning people because of his blindness and ableism making folks think he can't stand up for himself. Rest assured, she's planning to verbally and literally kick his ass next chapter.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser: 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “You suck as a teacher. Matt, no offence to you, but my sensei can beat up your sensei.”  
> “But would she do it without leaving him unable to talk about why he’s fouling up my home?”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stick is evicted and lives are saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Shadows_of_Shemai, Beth_Mac, ValkyriePhoenix, Darylslover33, Selene_Aduial, SionnachOiche3, hhhellcat, and the 2 new kudo-ers. Y'all are awesome.

Skye meditated as her brother’s mentor and abuser preached.  She let her mind reach that even, peaceful place she found while hacking.  She listened until she couldn’t let her brother face this demon on his own.  She’d make it up to him later.

“You’re a warrior.  A hero!  An heir of Sparta!”

“And?” she asked, she felt predatory, her heartbeat a dull thrum along tensed muscles coiled to attack.

“And, Matty’s got to do what they did and learn to cut it all loose.  Women, soft sheets, family, just let it go kid.”  She noted he still only spoke to Matt, possibly because she was too hard to pinpoint for the eerie, blind stare at her face he’d done before to freak her out.

“Our whole family is nothing but warriors.  You know what makes the difference between the warriors I fight beside and the ones I fight against?  The ones who lived to be called heroes and the ones who had their atoms forcibly separated and their guts aerosolized?”  

She closed her eyes and pictured battles.  

Bucky covering Darcy and Steve, Pepper flying across the open space to tackle a Dark Elf trooper aiming at Tony, Bobbi showing her a faded picture of Phil hand-feeding Clint in a nest, Clint feeding Natasha the same way years later as she obsessively fortified their sister’s house.  The constant protection and acceptance traded back and forth across the tangled webs of connection, strengthening ties.  

She took a breath and pictured enemies.  

The way Garrett sold Ward out for an extra month of freedom after killing him in front of her for a  _ password _ , the way Ian Quinn died choking on cyanide when he realized no-one was coming, the light and heat from a dying man pushed to madness by Raina, the countless dead that Malekith and Thanos ignored completely.  Betrayals that left armies shattered and commanders alone in their final moments.  

“No, but I’m sure you’ll try to educate me.  Why don’t you show off for Matty.  With his fancy job I’m sure he’d like it.”

“The job’s not that fancy,” Matt said, but Skye squeezed his hand and he gripped hers back.  They were one in this.

“My family, _ our  _ family forms connections.  Our enemies tend to alienate themselves from others.  Our family isn’t our weakness, it is our strength.”

“That’s some hippy dippy bullshit,” Stick scoffed.

“Is it?” she asked.  “Matt, who’s outside the apartment right now?”

“Darcy and Steve are on the sidewalk, Clint is on the building three over with a sightline to the back and side exits, Bucky is wedged under the billboard with a rifle, and I’m willing to bet the reason the toaster Natasha got me is on a different electrical buzz now has something to do with Harley or Tony.”

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” she told him.  “Yeah, Harley made the toaster, but he’s at school right now, his brother from another motherboard is piloting it.  Hi Jarvis!”

“Hello Agent Barnes, shall I alert emergency services about the subdued intruder in Mr. Murdock’s apartment, or would you prefer I call one of Miss Romanova’s cleaners?”

“Nothing for now, Jarvis, please keep the family updated though.  And tell Bucky to get out from under the billboard, he’s going to throw out his back.”  Jarvis blinked at her in an affirmative green-purple-red pattern that equated to a wish for good luck and she turned to Stick.  “Tell us what you came here for or I’ll dismantle you before any of the highly deadly people who mobilized on one word from me even breach the door.”

“When’d you pick up such a hot one, Matty?” stick asked, ignoring her.  “I thought you didn’t like ‘em that rough.”

“I like _ well-aimed _ rough, and she’s my sister, now talk,” Matt growled.

<^>

“You got an interesting family life kid, she’s all over your silk sheets,” Stick scoffed, pushing at that delicate constitution Matty had for family issues.  “Course, what do I expect, you lecture me on family connections, but what’d that get your dear old Dad?  Born to lose Battlin’ Jack Murdock?  At least he got _paid_ to hit the mat.”

The kid lunged and Stick countered, locking his arm.  The kid pulled an impressive flip to escape it.  “It only took you 20 years to learn to get out of that one,” Stick said as he prepared to counter, only to feel the hard circle of a gun barrel at his back.

“Try two weeks.  You realize all it took was a physics textbook and a copy of Grey’s Anatomy?” the sister asked.  “You suck as a teacher.  Matt, no offence to you, but my sensei can beat up your sensei.”

“But would she do it without leaving him unable to talk about why he’s fouling up my home?” Matty countered.  “Is that the icer or the lead rounds?”

“I don’t recall,” the girl grit out in Stick’s ear, the faint scent of sugary breakfast cereal and stale milk on her warm breath mingled with a bit of blood from a lip-biting habit.  Her heart behind him was as silent as the grave as her fingernails drummed a funeral march against the grip of her gun.  “He should talk before we find out the hard way.”

“It’s the War, Matty.  The never ending War.”

“With who?” the kid asked.  “You never got around to that.”

“Now, the Japanese.  Mostly.  Can I sit?”  He was shoved roughly at a sofa that was far too soft, although the cold press of steel at his head made up for that.

“You are not going to go tearing up Hell’s Kitchen trying to fight the entire Yakuza on your own,” the girl sighed, as though this were a common issue she faced.

“The Yakuza?” Stick had to laugh.  “You don’t know what’s in your own backyard.  The guy who was talking with the old fella you slapped around, he’s pretty high up.  Has a lot of names, goes by Nobu this time around.”

“Why didn’t you kill him then?” the kid asked, and Stick pushed down an urge to blink.  When did little bleeding heart Matty get some balls?

“I don’t want him, not yet.  I want what he’s bringing in at the docks.”

“Owlsley mentioned that, what is it?”

“A weapon, the kind you don’t want in your world.  They call it the Black Sky, the bringer of shadows.”

“Just say it,” Matty sighed.

“Say what?”

“That you want his help, raisin-balls,” the girl said harshly.  “So we can tell you to get your ass off our sofa, out of our city and out of our life for good.”

“I want you to help yourself,” Stick hedged.  “Nobu and his guys are in tight with Fisk.”

“We knew that, actually, he’s just not the first thread we pull,” the girl said.

“All this talk about cutting friends loose,” Matty laughed, light and sickeningly happy, “and now you need one.”

“I don’t need a friend, I need a soldier.  Committed.  Not a bleeding heart idealist hanging on to half measures.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, my family, or what we’re doing here,” Matty snapped.

“Kid, in war people die.  You.  Your enemy.  The guy next to you.  If you can’t kill, what’s going to happen when it’s you or the other guy?”

“A Russian asshole asked me the same thing recently.”  This laugh wasn’t light or happy.  “Right before he died.”

“Were you the one who put him in the ground?” Stick asked, tempering the hopeful spark.

“No, but she’s the one who ordered him hauled back out of it,” he offered cryptically.  “Maybe it’s for the best, if resurrecting them goes badly, at least they’ll be together in it.  One way or another.”

“Resurrection?” Stick asked with alarm. That was Hand stuff.  He knew Ellie had the potential to drag everyone near her into that, but all reports said she had broken ties with Matty back in college.  Of course, if Ellie was the current Black Sky, this entire trip was nothing but a waste and a death sentence.

“Moving on,” the woman holding the gun said firmly.  “We know where this Black Sky you’re so worried about is being delivered, and we’re far better equipped to take on whoever is guarding the shipment.   _You_ are not particularly needed for this case, so please, Mr. Stick, get walking or get talking.  I either get a good reason not to shoot you for what you did to my brother twenty years ago, or I get my couch cushions cleansed of your stench.  My dry-cleaner’s not picky about bloodstains, either.  Your choice.”

“I’ll be on a ship by morning.”

“See that you are.  You’ll be watched, by the way, and you can’t hear what I’ll have following you.  Kill anyone and I will personally throw you in a very tiny room with a deranged psycho who thinks he loves me and tell him you’ve irritated me.  Ward can be… creative.”

Stick shivered involuntarily as she holstered her weapon and hauled him up.  Coming back here was a mistake.

<^>

Bucky was letting Natasha fuss over his back because Skye went and ratted him out for picking the most awkward perch imaginable, but at least he was able to set anti-spy and anti-sniper measures before having to climb down on the orders of half the women of his family.  The old man they’d come because of left, and Skye flashed the window light.  He met Darcy and Steve on the stairs.

“Heya, kiddo, feeling alright?” he asked his sister.  “I gather that was a long time coming.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I got to say all that, but it felt too easy.  Jarvis, can you follow him?”

“Certainly, Agent Barnes.  If that will be all, I believe I shall return the toaster to its ordinary configurations.  Goodnight.”

“Night Jarvis,” everyone who’d spent time at the Tower chorused.

“When did you start giving me Autobot appliances?” Matt asked.

“Assume if it comes from Harley or Tony it also has Jarvis,” Skye said.  “We look out for our own.  Thanks for not giving Natasha away.”

“Actually, if she stands still and is on the other side of walls, I can’t pinpoint her,” Matt admitted.  “Not well enough, anyway.  Heartbeat is too quiet.”

Bucky was about to comment on that, when Matt’s cell phone started chiming ‘Foggy’ repeatedly.  Mat snatched it and turned it on.

“Hey buddy, what’s up?”  Matt’s face blanched.  “What?  Okay, I’m putting you on speaker, deep breaths buddy.  Repeat that.”

“Karen was attacked outside Mrs. Cardenas’ apartment.  I was following her because she was acting super cagey about something.  I just hit a man with a softball bat.  I’m not cut out for this!”

“First things first,” Steve said gently.  “Are you somewhere safe right now?”

“Who is that?  Matt, I’m so not okay with all of this. **Any** of this.  Karen wants me to go with her to the Bulletin, I’m in a subway car in the middle of the night with a bloody bat, I’m not coping well.”

“We’ll meet you at the Bulletin,” Bucky said firmly.  “I’m Skye’s oldest brother.  If you count age.  You can trust us.  Darcy, get us wheels.”

She nodded and hit the door at a trot.

“Matt, you, Skye, Clint and Natasha can handle the docks,” Steve added, obviously doing skill-division in his head.  “That is, if you trust us with your friends.”

“Of course.  Foggy, you are going to be in the best of hands and I have to go stop a superweapon with my sister and our assassin niece.”

“Don’t forget Clint, Dyadya,” Natasha chided.  “He’ll be here soon, he just felt he had something to prove tonight.”

“I had my long-range record challenged by a _ teen _ , Natasha, I must be getting sloppy,” Clint said coming in the door.

“Nat, listen to your aunt and uncle, they know the territory,” Bucky ordered, “Foggy, try not to have a heart attack.  Clint… stop obsessing about that damn blog!  It was pure speculation and you know it.  We have our assignments, now move, people.”

He left Clint and Nat playfully poking at each other and went downstairs to where Steve was staring at a heap of olive-green metal with tires.  It would seem Darcy had acquired the world’s ugliest hatchback car.  Darcy was stifling a laugh, and Steve was glaring.

“It was for sale at midnight, don’t get picky,” she finally said.  “For a guy who grew up with shortages on… well,  _ everything _ , you sure do have a lot of delicate sensibilities to offend.  Shush and get in the car.” 

“The Gremlin is not a  _ car, _ it is barely a  _ vehicle _ .  I did not die for this.”

“Shut up and get in the monstrosity pretending to be an automobile, Rogers,” Bucky growled.  “We have family at risk in case you didn’t notice.”

“Right,” Steve said, shaking out the tension in his shoulders.  “Sorry about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Hippy dippy: new age or mystical, flaky, not serious.  
> Cleaners: in this context, body disposal.  
> Autobot: the good sentient robots in the Transformers series.
> 
> Notes:  
> A classic difference between villains and heroes is their ability to help each other and work together. In supervillain teams in mainstream comics, the cooperation leaves a lot to be desired and is usually how a hero pitted against a line-up that could crush them stat-wise wins. I like smart villains, and I do sometimes write ethical or cooperative villains, but in terms of canon, there just aren't any that Skye's seen. There's Hydra with it's thousands of fanatic lackeys, but even that's not teamwork like she's used to.
> 
> Jarvis is Harley Keener's mutually adopted brother. Hence 'brother from another mother(board)'.
> 
> Jarvis is VERY good at social combat, especially in the context of not having body language clues to use. He's doing several things here, including implying that Stick is doomed to failure against the family, alerting Stick to Natasha's less savory connections, and using cryptic communication that Stick can't read (visual only, masked again by code). If Stick were more perceptive or less a jerk, he'd have left then.
> 
> The flip is really impressive, it's also fairly easy to figure out how to do with a modicum of actual education about how bodies can move. Matt's canonically very body-intelligent and in great shape, even as a child. He could have gotten out of that hold if he'd been taught to. Stick was just a dick for using it and not teaching Matt the escape.
> 
> The phrase "my ___ can beat up your ___" is used in a lot of contexts in America, notably when a former pro-boxer ran for governor, the bumper stickers read "my governor can beat up your governor". She's actually referring to May here, because her relationship to Darcy is much more of a familial one.
> 
> The Hand are sort of semi-famous in the comics for being able to bring the dead back to life. Stick thinks the resurrection comment is a hint that Matt and Skye are involved in the Hand. The Ellie he mentions is Elektra, who has a strange and convoluted history with the Hand as well, being a Black Sky like the kid in the container, and would be the only person besides Stick to interact with Matt who knows about the Hand.
> 
> In this 'Verse, Karen isn't hiding her investigation from Matt and Foggy knows Matt can kick ass. Hence the phone call. Matt didn't drink Stick's Kool-Aid, so he's there to hear it.
> 
> The teen whose blog Clint is upset about is Kate Bishop. Yeah, we're going there.
> 
> The Gremlin is a really fantastically ugly car that ran horribly and is generally considered the second worst vehicle the auto industry ever perpetrated, right after the plywood Dale scam. Steve has _standards_.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “You have vague and shadowy underworld contacts that it would take you a minute to decide to betray,” Natasha said dryly. “Those aren’t friends.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescues of various kinds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Tsita, Valkyrie Phoenix, minishadowsoul, Shadows_of_Shemai, hhhellcat, critterlady, QueenOfTheQuill, Selene_Aduial, SionnachOiche3, and the 5 new kudo-ers.

As they entered the Bulletin’s headquarters, Steve plastered his best press smile on and got busy snowing the staff as Darcy and Bucky ghosted behind him, following the sound of Foggy and Karen’s voices.  After he was sure that they’d found the right room, he followed with a speed and silence that would shock many.  Sometimes it was nice to be assumed to be nothing but bluster and bugle-calls.  The office he entered was small, but even there he saw the lines had been carefully drawn.  Darcy was facing the man who must be Foggy, beside her, Bucky was trying not to gape at a face from the past, and in the corner, Ben Urich was smirking into coffee from a styrofoam cup.

“Introductions,” Steve said crisply.  “I’m Steve, this is Darcy and Bucky.  For now we’d prefer not using any other names you might have heard used for us.  We’re just here because Matt is family and he wants you two safe.  Mr. Urich, I’m sorry we’re doing this in your office.”

“I made my peace,” the older man said.  “Now I’m just milking this for the entertainment value.  This is Karen and her friend Foggy.”

“You kept the name Karen?” Bucky asked.  “After you never came forward I assumed you’d ditched it and tried to move on.”

“Well, it’s a bit hard to move on when every fiber of my being wants to be a scientist and that was the one career specifically vetoed by the super-assassin who saved my life before dumping me in a motel in Nevada with a ticket to Vermont.  Do you know what’s in Vermont?  Maple syrup and not a lot else.”

“It had the best safety and crime rating for going into hiding,” Bucky growled and Steve flicked his ear.

“Play nice.  I’d understand Karen’s surprise, but would someone like to explain what’s going on with the shocked look on Foggy?”

“Um,” Darcy said sheepishly, raising a hand.  “I may have decided to bring Matt a little more firmly into the family after he got in touch with me about Skye.  Meet the lawyer who’s going to handle the next time you get busted while protesting.”

“Oh thank God,” Steve sighed without thinking.  “I mean… I’m sure Ms. Hogarth is a very nice woman, she just is… well, when I get taken in my cell-mates tend to need… and she’s just....   She’s a good lawyer.”

“She’s a shark, you can say it,” Foggy said carefully.  “But can we move on to the part where someone explains to me what was going on with the nutjob who attacked Karen?”

“I’ve been working with Ben on a follow up to the Union Allied case,” Karen said.  “Following the money trails, trying to figure out where all the rats that didn’t go down with the ship scurried off to.  I think I got too close when I was poking around the repairmen who busted up Mrs. Cardenas’ apartment.”

“Show them the board,” Ben said, nodding to a corkboard on one wall.

“Ben has outlined all of the possible connections, starting at the bottom, and moving on up” Karen said, pointing at the playing cards tacked to the board.

“The king of diamonds?” Foggy asked.

“The man at the top,” Ben provided.

“Any idea who he is?” Steve asked.

“No, but we think he’s the one behind Union Allied,” Karen said.

“Give me two seconds,” Darcy interrupted, tapping away on her phone.  “Okay, Jarvis says the current intelligence points to that guy being one Wilson Fisk.  His trail is covered pretty well, but Fisk is the only name that’s been repeatedly called up as a boss.  He has partners that are supposedly on his level, but only the Chinese heroin ring and the Yakuza branch of what tonight’s other crisis called ‘The Hand’ are still in play.  The Russians were hit pretty solidly the night the Kitchen blew and the survivors are being reallocated to other Bratva holdings.”

“How do you know any of that?” Ben demanded.

“I’m not just a pretty face,” Darcy said with a killer’s grin.  “I organize the Avenger’s information net, along with Jarvis as my silent partner.  We have someone else helping on this front.  You owe him an apology by the way… my husband was pretty peeved how badly you got how a sniper works.”

“The gunman was in the wrong building entirely,” Bucky growled.

“It’s the same as when we used to have to report suicide by double barrelled shotgun to the back of the head,” Ben said with a sigh.  “I know how to avoid getting fitted with cement shoes.  It’s not my fault nobody sees obvious signs anymore.”

“So the man in the mask, he’s an Avenger?” Karen asked eagerly.

“Not as yet, Ma’am,” Steve said seriously.  “But he is a part of this family, and a good person.”

<^>

“I am a terrible person,” Matt laughed as he scooped up the silent, scared child to hand to Clint.  “But that was the best fun I’ve had in ages.”

“Legitimate targets, Dyadya,” Nat sang out from where her silent arms were swiftly patting down a fallen soldier.  “It’s okay to like hitting legitimate targets.”

“Come on, sweetie,” Skye cooed at the boy.  “Let’s get you home and cleaned up.  The nasty men won’t be bothering you again.  What’s your name?”

“Kuro Sora,” he whispered.

“No, no, Zayka,” Nat murmured as she moved over to her lover.  “That’s a title, it’s what you are but not who you are.  What did your mama call you?  Anata no haha wa nani o anata no namaedesu ka?”

The boy whimpered and buried his face.

“Natasha, ease up a bit,” Matt advised.  “Can you flag us a ride?  I don’t think we should try going the high road with a child.”

“Nonsense,” Clint laughed.  “Kids love the high roads.”

“Clint, if you turn that boy into the next Code Chartreuse I will tell the entire internet about how you chose one of the most awkward cover locations available because you were ego-stung over a teenage girl’s fan-blog,” Skye threatened.

“Fair enough, taxi it is,” Clint agreed, and they moved up to the street edging the docks.  “Wait, is that a Veles Taxi?  I thought they mostly went under because… you know.”

“Nobody looks at cabbies,” Natasha said as she opened the door.  “Dobry vecher, sestra.”

“Why am I in New York, Natka?” the cabbie growled.  “What’s more, why am I in New York, evacuating half the Bratva and replacing them with our people?”

“Because, Katka,” Natasha said sweetly, “you’re the best of us at organizing and Tatiana already likes you.  Besides, you know you like getting to talk to Nika more.”

“True enough, and the Kikimora were outgrowing Vegas.”  The cabbie froze fractionally when Matt got in the front, but recovered quickly.  Someone was going to have to sit up front, with four adults and a child, but the sight of him feeling about the front of the cab must still have been shocking.  “Introduce me?”

“Of course.  Katenka, this is Tetushka Skye and Dyadya Matvey.  I adopted them first, but I will share.  This is Clint, and I will not share him.”

“I love you too, Nat-Nat,” Clint said as he got in last, handing the boy to Skye to hold in the middle of the bench seat while he buckled up.  “Okay I can take him back.  Archer arms are as close to a car seat as we have right now.  It’s safe, but drive carefully, Katenka.”

“You can call me Catherine,” their driver allowed as they pulled away.  “Mama and Papa want me to make more friends.”  

“Of course they do,” Natasha sighed.  “You’re borderline antisocial and you have no friends outside of a crime syndicate ordered to be nice to you by the scariest woman east of the Urals.”

“I have friends!”

“You have vague and shadowy underworld contacts that it would take you a minute to decide to betray,” Natasha said dryly.  “Those aren’t friends.”

“I have my guild in World of Warcraft,” Katenka countered, waving a hand.  It wafted the smells of past passengers, sweat and piss and puke and perfume, around Matt’s face.  He fought down a gag, and pressed a hand to the window, feeling the vibrations.  It was grounding and soothing and he ignored the conversation until the taxi came to a sharp stop.  “Everyone out now, I have actual work to do, too.”

“Thank you, Catherine,” Skye said as she waited for Clint to get out.  Matt gratefully took Natasha’s offered hand to help him out.  He was coming down off adrenaline and the smells of the cab, and his legs weren’t as steady as they could be.  He heard the rustle of paper as his sister tipped their driver, she may have been family, and paid by other sources, but it was always polite to make sure the cabbie got something special.  Smart, too, he of all people knew cabbies discussed fares with each other.

<^>

Skye woke up in the pale false-dawn light to the whimpers of the rescued child.  She got out of bed and padded silently over to where they’d put him to bed on the couch.  He looked so small and fragile, half asleep and dreaming of something terrible.  She knelt beside him and brushed a hand gently over his close-cropped stubble of hair.

“Sing me a song of a lass that is gone,” she sang softly, “say could that lass be I?  Merry of soul she sailed on a day, over the sea to Skye.  Mull was astern, Rùm on the port, Eigg on the starboard bow; glory of youth glowed in her soul; where is that glory now?”

“Sing me a song, of a lass that is gone, say could that lass be I?” Natasha joined in, her light sleeping only rivaled by Matt’s.  The man in question wandered out and sat cross-legged beside her, leaning on her ribs.  Matt took the second verse, his voice deep and soft.

“Give me again all that was there, give me the sun that shone! Give me the eyes, give me the soul, give me the lass that's gone!”

“Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say could that lass be I?  Merry of soul she sailed on a day, over the sea to Skye,” they sang together, as Clint and Natasha moved their sleeping bags to better sit in the song circle.   “Billow and breeze, islands and seas, mountains of rain and sun.  All that was good, all that was fair, all that was me is gone.”  

Skye stopped singing partway into the last verse to listen to Natasha’s clear, high voice fill the space with the mournful tune.

“So sing me the songs of lasses long gone,” Clint countered.  “Onward! the sailors cry; carry the soul that's born to be free, up past seas to sky.”

“That was beautiful,” Skye whispered.  “What was that last chorus?”

“We fixed it,” Natasha said.  “It was too sad, and had no good advice.  We sing of our lost when we can, and we keep moving forward.  Our souls will be free, no matter what else we do.”

“It’s beautiful,” Matt told her.  Natasha smiled, preening under the praise, and Clint put his arm around her waist.  Skye gave them a fond look, then yawned, feeling the joint of her jaw pop.  

“That was not good,” she said.  “I need sleep.  Can you two take the kid-watch for now?”

“Of course,” Clint said, pulling Natasha in to rest on his chest as he leaned against the sofa.  She draped the second sleeping bag over them and nodded.

“Go sleep, Tetya.  We have the watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Snowing: to blind or overwhelm someone, usually with intent to deceive or evade certain questions.  
> Bugle-calls: the sound of a bugle is associated with the military and blind patriotism.  
> Fitted with cement shoes: killed by organized crime.  
> Dyadya: Rusian for Uncle  
> Kuro Sora: technically that can be a name in Japanese, but with different writing. In this context it means "Black Sky".  
> Zayka: Russian pet name, means bunny.  
> Anata no haha wa nani o anata no namaedesu ka?: Japanese: what name did your mother give you?  
> Dobry vecher, sestra: Good evening, sister.  
> Tetushka: Auntie  
> Tetya: Aunt.
> 
> Notes:  
> So as recap, Karen used to be a scientist named Isabelle who was kidnapped by Hydra and held in Nevada. Bucky got her a new identity as Karen Page and sent her to Vermont. He gave her permission to come forward with her story after the news broke on SquidGate, but she didn't because she has PTSD.
> 
> Jerri Hogarth is a high-power lawyer who is used to clients with more or less the same money as God and most if not all the privilege. Steve's friends from his various protest marches are lower to lower-middle class working folks or unemployed college students with a combined discrimination target count in the triple digits. She isn't what you'd call likable to them. Steve doesn't want to insult her for it though.
> 
> Darcy pools info, so there's a LOT less fumbling in the dark.
> 
> Back in the height of mob control, newspapers reported entirely impossible suicides as an end run around the Mafia, my favorite being double barrel shotgun to back of head. A reporter who blamed the Mafia for the murders was liable to get killed, but they wanted to do their jobs, so a wildly inaccurate CoD as a wink-wink-nudge-nudge was the compromise.
> 
> The 'high roads' are parkour. Clint's an Adultier Adult, but he's also a goofball who would totally take small children free-running.
> 
> Katka (Catherine), Natka (Natasha), and Nika (Veronica) are all former Red Room Girls, who identify as sisters, children of Darcy and Bucky. Katka used to live with Tatiana, THE Bratva wife, acting Head Mom to the entire Russian Mob, and Nika is a high-level Russian mob boss based in Vegas.
> 
> The song is the Skye Boat Song, but the final chorus is a mash-up of two versions and made a bit more hopeful.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "Is this a Skye-adjacent thing?”  
> “No, he goes to my church with his husband. His wife’s a good friend, too. She’s the one who helped me perpetrate the light-up monstrosity tie that nearly killed Mr. Landman when I wore it to the budget meeting. I like Darcy, she’s evil in all the right ways.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt's first day of accidental fatherhood brings some truths to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To minishadowsoul, ValkyriePhoenix, Beth_Mac, Readertee, Selene_Aduial, Shadows_of_Shemai, hhhellcat, SionnachOiche3, nemohana, and the newest Kudo-er.

Matt discovered why he’d never considered having children anew when he had to navigate a morning routine with the boy they’d rescued.  Fortunately, aside from not knowing how to handle children, he didn’t scar the kid too badly by walking into the bathroom to clean his cuts before waking up enough to realize he wasn’t alone.

“Oh,” he said sort of dumbly.  “Sorry.  I’ll just grab the wound-rinse and go then.”

“Stay?” asked the boy softly.  “Help me?”

“With what?” Matt asked.  “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m blind.”

“My back.”   Matt tilted his head for a different angle, and the kid shifted a bit, letting the old-iron scent of deep bruising assault Matt’s nose.

“Okay, buddy, let me grab a cold-pack.”  Matt rummaged under the sink and grabbed a reusable chemical cold pack and crushed the little activation crystals until it chilled his fingertips.  He wrapped it in a hand towel, and motioned for the kid to sit on the toilet while Matt held the pack to the hottest parts of his back for a long, slow count to ten in Spanish, and then back down in Japanese.  He knew that much from his training with Stick.  If nothing else, the old bastard did infuse a lot of other cultures into Matt’s childhood.  After cooling the bruises, he ran his fingertips lightly over the skin, cataloging the scrapes to clean with the saline rinse he’d come in here for.

“I think you’re all done, but go check with one of the others first, okay?”

“Hai,” the boy said quickly.  “Thank you.”

Matt blushed and moved to rinse his own injuries.

Cleaned up and put together enough for work, he stepped out into the living room to find some unusual scents.  Something salty and savory floated high, while a softer, cooler scent clouded out sideways from under the stove vent.  His mouth started watering, and before he knew it, he was being handed a bowl.

“Coconut rice and toasted nori,” Skye said.  “Eat it like oatmeal and tell me if the texture’s wrong.”

“It smells amazing,” he said, and scooped up a bite.  The sweet, thick taste of coconut was perfectly broken by crunchy shreds of something salty and thin, like paper made of flavor.  “Oh wow.  I want this as often as you’ll make it.”

“New favorite?” she asked hopefully.

“Yesh, please,” he said around a bite.  “It’sh sho good.  Mm.  I love you Sis, I’ll be back after work.  This place isn’t childproof, but it is blind-man-proof, so he should be fine here.”

“Go,” she said, and shoved him towards the door playfully.

Matt was in a pretty good mood when he got to the door of his office and heard Foggy and Karen arguing about not telling him something.  It didn’t sound good, and Foggy smelled of stress.  Matt was unpleasantly familiar with that smell, it had pervaded their dorm room the week of finals every year from freshman on.

“Not tell Matt what?” he asked, hoping to end-run the guilt some.

“We cut you from the softball team,” Foggy said awkwardly.  “Sorry buddy, but you just don’t have the batting average.”

“That’s too bad,” Matt said with careful ease.  “I’ve got a great arm for pitching.”

“We’re investigating Union Allied with Ben and now the Avengers,” Karen blurted.

“Remind me to keep you off the witness stand,” Foggy grumbled.  “You look super guilty right now.”

“Is this an ‘all cards on the table’ sort of thing?” Matt asked.  “Because I will if you trust her, you know everything now and frankly it’s hard to keep track of who we’re trusting with what.”

“Yeah, buddy, I think it is.”  Foggy sighed.  “So, first up, our other client, Mr. Lewis?  Is actually Steve Rogers.   _ That _ Steve Rogers.”

“Good,” Matt said firmly.  “He keeps getting involved in political protests and one of these days he’s going to need competent legal help from someone who  _ doesn’t  _ make him so mad he stays in the cell.”

“Wait, how do… is this a Skye-adjacent thing?”

“No, he goes to my church with his husband.  His wife’s a good friend, too.  She’s the one who helped me perpetrate the light-up monstrosity tie that nearly killed Mr. Landman when I wore it to the budget meeting.  I like Darcy, she’s evil in all the right ways.”

“Okay, moving on,” Foggy said, his hair shifting with a sharp shake of his head.  “Karen wasn’t always Karen, she used to be someone else and somehow Bucky Barnes is involved in the switch.”

“I was a scientist forced to work for Hydra with a bomb on my leg.  He disliked that,” Karen said softly.

“He’s a good judge of character,” Matt said, considering the tiny lies Karen told regularly.  It all fit with having to change her identity and hide from the massive hidden threat.  He could hear her knuckles tighten in fear for a moment, so he smiled at her.  “And you handled the attacker pretty well before I got there, so I’m less than concerned knowing will put you in too much danger.  This is the part where I come clean, I guess.  I’m the vigilante.”

<^>

“Wait, what?” Karen asked, going hot and cold and numb all at once.

“I’m the vigilante.  The guy the Bulletin called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?  I have really strong senses, and I absolutely hate the fact my neighbors have to fear for their lives.  So I do something about it.”

Karen stepped back and put a hand to her lips.  “Are you even really blind?” she asked without thinking.

“Yes,” Matt said.  “No light perception at all.  I still know how to navigate the world because there’s more than just sight to seeing, you know?”

“No, I don’t know at all,” Karen said.  She looked at him, his handsome face open and vulnerable and hopeful.  This man had saved her life.  He’d helped her find a new life.  “I’m willing to learn though.  And together, we can take down Fisk.”

“I want you two staying on the right side of the law,” Matt said immediately.  “I realize my activity isn’t strictly speaking legal, but I’m working through a government agency now, so I have a little cover.  You don’t.  So please, keep it within the bounds of law.”

“Of course,” Karen agreed rapidly.  “Whatever it takes, even if that means holding back when we have to.”

“And no more things like last night where I get a call from Foggy saying you’ve been attacked,” Matt said insistently.  “Either keep it safe and your head down…”

“Or what?” Karen demanded hotly.  “I have already been hurt by these bastards, and I was being safe, you have no idea how safe I was being.  My head was so far down is was _level with the dirt_.  And I didn’t care when they offered me money, and I don’t care what dangers they pose, I am not going to stick my head in the sand while they do it to other people.”

“That’s good,” Matt said with a smile.  She cursed her traitor heart for squeezing when he did that.  “And my ‘or what’ suggestion was coordinate with someone accustomed to taking and giving hits in a fight and have them watch your backs.  Skye’s already got permission to stay here until the Fisk thing is cleaned up, my niece and her boyfriend are both skilled, and you’ve already met the Barnes-Lewis-Rogers family.  Any one of them, or me, just make sure the call comes  _ before  _ you’re in trouble.  I already lost one family member to good intentions.  Don’t make me lose another.”

“Oh Matt,” Karen sighed, moving to hug him.  “I’m not going to get Foggy killed, I promise.  I’ll get Skye to help me figure out who to call, she’s good at assessing people.”

“She gets it from Agent Coulson,” Matt mumbled into her hair.  His back tensed under her hands and she now noticed the muscles pull across scars.

“Okay.  Now what?” she asked.

“If we’re going to take this fight to Fisk, we’re going to do it on our turf.  The legal system.”

“That does  _ not  _ sound as heroic as you think does,” Foggy said.

“I don’t intend it to,” Matt informed him.  “Look, I know five exits from this office that don’t take me out the front door.  I memorized the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen when I was too young to watch R-rated movies, and I can parkour over half of Manhattan while staggeringly drunk.  Hell’s Kitchen in my turf, but I don’t go punching out bad guys in Long Island.  The court system is your turf, Foggy.  We gather the information we need to hit them on a battleground that two of us can stand equally on.  There’s safety in numbers.”

“Where do we start?” Karen asked, the dark shadow that had been growing under her skin since her name was Isabel and she was abducted in her home fluttering happily.  She was going to make someone pay for darkening her world.

<^>

Skye opened the door to the office as Foggy complained about the speed at which things were going.  That Matt had come clean had made her happy, but it apparently made Foggy feel like complaining about not getting to be on the front lines.  She kissed little Zayka’s head as he hid his face in her shoulder. “It’s okay, that’s just Uncle Foggy complaining,” she said, catching the room’s attention.  The boy giggled into her shirt and she shifted him on her hip.  “He does that a lot.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Matt asked her.  He stood and came to put a hand on Zayka’s back.  “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, except that Natasha and Clint have actual jobs and need to go do them along with AC, Bucky has had today’s date night planned for weeks, and I don’t actually trust my team with a traumatized child.  Fitz is liable to treat him like a pet, Jemma will feed him too many sweets, Trip will probably scar him for life trying to look cool, and May has flat out said no kids.  She has... issues.  We need a babysitter if you’re going out tonight, and I was hoping we could recruit the less crazy people we know.”

“Well I love kids,” Karen said.  “What’s the little guy’s name?”

“We’ve been calling him Zayka, it means ‘bunny’ in Russian, but we haven’t been able to find his original name and he’s pretty quiet when asked.”  She set Zayka down and let him wander around the office, poking at Matt’s electronic Braille reader and feeling the labels.  “All we got was Kuro Sora, which in that context means black sky, and is a title not a name.”

“Are you keeping him?” Foggy asked, offering a toy dinosaur to the boy.  A shy hand reached out to pet it gently.  “Because he’s going to need a real name and if he’s going to be a little Barnes or Murdock, he needs one you give him.”

Skye felt her heart clench at the idea of giving her little bunny up.  Fortunately Matt was right there, and he knew what she was feeling.  “We’re not putting a child in the system,” he insisted.

“Of course,” Foggy said quickly.  “We can do a little web research on name options while you’re out if you’d like.  I need to look at something other than business reports.”

“That would be great, Foggy.  I have a bag with the stuff we got for him today," she said, sliding the padded day bag off her shoulder to pass it over.  "Are you going to want to watch him here, or at someone’s apartment?”

“My place isn’t kid friendly yet,” Karen said.  “It’s barely me-friendly.”

“Mine is, though,” Foggy said quickly.  “My sister has kids.  We’ll pack up some of this stuff to go through after we tuck him in, and then we’ll go watch Disney movies and eat popcorn.”

Skye was about to thank him again when her phone buzzed.  “Blake is awake, we should move fast.  Thank you guys.”  She knelt and looked Zayka in the eye.  “Be good for Uncle Foggy and Aunt Karen, okay buddy?”

“Hai.  I’ll be good,” Zayka said quietly.  “Be safe hunting akujin.”

“We will, promise,” Skye said, holding out her little finger.  He took it solemnly as Natasha had taught him.  Her eyes burned as she straightened back up.  “Let’s go.”

“I’ll change in the van,” Matt said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Hai: Japanese for 'yes'.  
> Akujin: Japanese for 'evil spirit', what Zayka calls the members of the Fisk/Hand conglomerate.
> 
> Notes:  
> Matt doesn't dislike children, he's just never lived a life that prepared him for the idea that he can have them. Many blind people are told (repeatedly) that it's unsafe for them, or would put too much stress on the child. That's infantilizing bullcrap and lies, but it sinks in over the years.
> 
> Bruise care can be tricky, especially on a kid who's inclined to be squirmy, but a cold pack and a saline rinse on scrapes is a good start. There are some things that work best in first aid when you can use sight to check them, so Matt is using the fact he has seeing family to double check his work, but it's just a precaution.
> 
> Coconut rice porridge (coconut okayu) is a good Asian food for kids or picky eaters. Nori, a type of seaweed often seen as a sushi wrap, is a good topping for it, especially a dried version like ajitsuke nori, which Skye is calling toasted nori because that's how she made it, by seasoning and toasting it before crumbling it on top.
> 
> The light-up monstrosity tie that nearly killed Mr Landman can be seen in Chapter 21 of Bodies In Time. It's _horrific_.
> 
> Karen has officially run out of fucks to give. And it is GLORIOUS.
> 
> May has issues about kids because of what happened in Bahrain when she became The Cavalry. She hasn't told Skye what issues she has, but she has explained she has issues and doesn't want to ever be responsible for a child. Skye respects that.
> 
> I'm currently working on a list of potential names for Zayka. If you want to add any, leave a comment below. I'll post a poll when I have my finalists and we can all name the kiddo together.
> 
> The pinky swear is a part of childhood culture, something that Natasha takes very seriously. Her childhood involved way too much darkness not to enshrine what little actual childhood she got as a near-religious ritual. Zayka is currently copying the sympathetic adults near him in his solemness, he has a chance now to grow up mostly emotionally healthy.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Just ask yourself if it’s worth it to protect a man who won’t be around much longer,” he whispered. “We’ll be outside when you decide.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very special new chapter for the anniversary of the Bodies Verse!
> 
> Skye and Matt go to the hospital to check in on Detective Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To minishadowsoul, Shadows_of_Shemai, ValkyriePhoenix, Selene_Aduial, hhhellcat, QueenOfTheQuill, SionnachOiche3, and the two new Kudo-ers.

Matt shifted uncomfortably.  “Why am I wearing this?” he asked.

“Because your ninja-chic look is on half a dozen wanted posters and will be until further notice,” Skye shot back, adjusting leather and Dyneema over his skin with the practiced movements of someone used to the protective uniforms of SHIELD.  “You don’t look horrible in it, if that’s what you’re concerned about.  I even got you the black variant because I know you prefer it.”

“I feel like an idiot.  I’m just supposed to walk in there, a blind man, and act like a blind spook isn’t strange?”

“You walk in there with dark glasses and don’t bump into anything and you’ll be fine.  Stay quiet and behind me, you do a good job at playing ominous attack dog.”

“If this goes terribly, I blame you.”  He sighed heavily, then stepped out of the van.  The dark glasses were heavy duty plastic, not his usual wire frames, and they felt heavier on his face.  Oddly, that made it easier to look stern.  He didn’t feel like Matt Murdock, Attorney at Law, he felt more like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, only not.  The absence of a real mask leashed the violence a little tighter.  After all, he didn’t want his thin disguise punched off.

“Fair enough, now stand up straight.  You represent SHIELD right now.”  He followed his sister into the hospital and tried to block out his senses.  He took short, shallow breaths through the nose and dug his nails into his palm to focus his body on that small pain rather than the stench and the noise and the cool air damp with sickly humidity.  His stomach rolled as she flashed her badge and her smile at people ahead of him.  Most of the men took a moment to lust, their scents shifting to the sharp odor of musk as she passed.  At least one woman did too, her lipgloss smacking and her cheeks heating.  He knew it wasn’t him she was looking at, since he was standing far enough back to be around the corner.  He mainly wanted to give Skye room to work in, but that position had its advantages too.  He stayed back while Skye dealt with Brett, out of the way and unable to be identified.

He was still standing by the elevator when the stress-sweat-soaked detective stepped out onto the floor.  Matt took a moment to really pin him down as Detective Carl Hoffman before stepping forward lightly, weight on the balls of his feet.  He didn’t know exactly what was making the man a guilty wreck, but it wasn’t good.  If it weren’t for the ambient smells and sounds of the hospital, he’d have more.

“Detective Hoffman?” he asked firmly.  He kept his voice low and gruff.  He’d seen him a few times as Matt Murdock, and he felt naked without the mask.

“Yes?” the man asked, his heartbeat ticking nervously.  “Who are you?”

“I’m with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division,” Matt said, mimicking Coulson.  “We have reason to believe your partner is being targeted by organized crime.  Do you know anything about a man by the name of Wilson Fisk?”

“Uh, no,” lied Hoffman.  Matt smiled at him.

“That’s alright.  He’s a new player, not established yet.  Talks a bigger game than he can deliver.  Keep an eye out for information, would you?”

“Uh, yeah.  Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you, Detective Hoffman.  If you’d like, I can walk you in.  My partner is in there right now, asking Detective Blake if he knows why he’s being targeted.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks for that.”

“My pleasure,” Matt said with a grin.  Tonight’s fishing expedition was going to pay off.

<^>

Carl Hoffman wasn’t a stupid man.  He knew something big was going down, with SHIELD crawling all over the hospital and Mahoney at the door looking stupidly happy.  He could only play things as cool as he could.

“Hey, Brett.”

“Hey.  Good news, right?”

“Yeah, he always was a tough son of a bitch.”  Carl started to move past him when Brett stopped him.

“Hey, man, you gotta sign in.  If I made Special Agent Childhood Crush sign in, I gotta make you, too.”

“What now?” Carl asked, taking the clipboard.

“Yeah, the Agent in there from SHIELD, local girl.” Brett passed him a pen.  “I had the biggest crush when we were kids.  She was a few years younger, but the smile on that girl, man.  And the things she did with computers.  Probably married now, huh?”

“Not married,” said the grim-faced agent beside him.  “Although you’re going to get your heart broken chasing her.  Followed by your legs, your ego, and your reputation.  The last man to flirt with her ended up on a government slab a day later.”

“Yikes.  Well, times change.  Go on in, Agent.”  Carl moved to follow and was stopped.  “I gotta check your bag.”

“Oh, of course.  Meatball sub from Marchioni’s,” Carl said, offering the top of the bag.  He felt his palms sweat as Brett opened the paper.  All it took was a slip of the marinara or for Brett to decide to take the sub apart and see the weapon.  “He loves that place.  I thought it might trigger something.”

“Good idea, go on in.”

Inside, a cute young thing was sitting by Christian’s bed, holding his hand.

“It’s okay if it takes you a while, Detective,” she said.  “I just need to know what happened that night.  Think back.  You’ll find it.”

“I…  I had a bum hand, I’d been hurt by some crazy lady in a black catsuit.  Looked like a Black Widow cosplayer.  Great rack though.”

The girl’s hand tightened on Christian’s and he coughed.  “Focus, Detective.”

“I… uh, I got called to go in and clean up where the Russians had been hit.  The bombings, you know?”

Carl swallowed down his fear.  If he didn’t stop this now, both of them would face Fisk’s wrath.  “Hey, he looks pretty tired, you mind if I take the room and give him a sandwich?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she said, standing up.  “We’ll wait for you outside.”

Carl nodded and took the vacant chair.  He was trying to calm down when a hand landed lightly on his shoulder.  He looked up at his reflection in the glasses of the male agent. _Christ, I look guilty_ , he thought.  He swallowed hard.

“Can I help you?”

“Maybe, but right now I hope you help yourself,” he said gently.  It was almost painful, the tender look under the shades.  It was like the worst combination of a grandma and a pastor, disappointed and understanding.  “Just ask yourself if it’s worth it to protect a man who won’t be around much longer,” he whispered.  “We’ll be outside when you decide.”

Carl shuddered as the gentle hand lifted away and he looked at the dazed eyes of Christian Blake, his old friend, partner in crime and crime fighting for thirty five years.  The door clicked shut behind him.

“He sent you to shut me up, didn’t he?” Christian asked.  He didn’t seem angry, just tired and sad.

“He wasn’t happy with you,” Carl said.  “People are saying that the Russians are still in business.  Veles Taxi wasn’t rolled into the rest of it, and we were the ones who were supposed to clean it up.  Plus, that chick in the catsuit stole your phone with the text from  _ him _ .  Not to mention, you were the one who got tagged by that skinny Brit girl.  She was what, nineteen?  It doesn’t look good to let teen hookers hit you with bricks.”

“She had ridiculous aim and you know it,” Christian grumbled.  “Do what you came here for.  But let me eat the sandwich in peace first.”

<^>

Skye handed Matt a cold pack from the fridge in his apartment.  They’d have to start sorting the fridge into safe for the kiddo and unsafe.  Maybe get a mini-fridge for cold packs and the medicine that they needed.  He sighed and held it gingerly to his cheek, breaking her focus.

“Did we have to let him hit me?” he whined.  She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and tilted her head, sizing him up.  She knew being the boogeyman was wearing on him.

“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is already a force people know and recognize.  It’s not an issue of just protecting Hoffman, it’s an issue of hiding our tracks.  I want Fisk to think we’re three miles behind, not five steps ahead.”

“But he had a really strong right hook,” Matt said indignantly.  

“And?” She asked, prying the hand not holding the cold pack open and handing him two pain pills.  “You choked him out with a chair leg.  Take your tylenol and stop whining.”

“And,” he said irritably, “now I’m wanted for another cop killing I didn’t commit.  So I will whine as much as I can until our kid comes back tomorrow and I have to be a role model.  May I have beer with this?”

“Yes, because that’s not a narcotic,” she told him, passing a bottle from the fridge over.  “I’m not drugging you, y’know.  Also, you’re a heathen who keeps decent German beer in the fridge, what is wrong with you?”

“You’re the one who not only adopted me but dragged seven degrees of superheroes along for the ride.”

“Fair,” she said, popping the lid on one of her dark lagers from the cabinet.  “What’s wrong with me?”

“The world may never know,” he intoned, and she tossed a rag at his head.  

_                        An hour earlier. _

Skye was pacing beside her brother on the tiny patio balcony.  The city lights were a murky yellow haze on the edge of her vision, half her mind on the unknown horrors waiting for her, and the rest was focused through the glass doors to the ward inside.

“How could you, if you knew he’d be a risk to our witness?” she asked her brother.  She wasn’t happy he hadn’t filled her in until after they’d left the room.  He knew they couldn’t risk going in past Brett a second time.

“He’s a risk,” Matt said calmly.  “But I don’t think it’s as bad as you believe.  He’s scared, and in pain.  He doesn’t want to do this.  It will be okay, Skye.”

“I wish I could have the faith you have,” she sighed, and leaned into him.  He slung his arm around her.

“It’s not faith,” he told her.  “It has to be something I don’t know for it to be faith.  You were always the one with the faith.  You saw something good in me, after all, even when I couldn’t.”

“Ha, I saw something snarky and insane,” she scoffed.  “You don’t have to be good to be family, just a lil' shit.  I mean, look at the others.”

“Agents?” asked a voice from the door.

“Detective,” replied Matt.  “I take it you decided.”

“It’s done either way, it’s a question of if I go down too.”

“I may have a way around that,” Skye said with a smile.  “Have you ever heard of Tetrodotoxine B?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Dyneema: a bulletproof fabric that's less bulky than kevlar.  
> Spook: slang for spy.  
> Bum hand: injured hand.  
> Rack: breasts.  
> Tetrodotoxine B: the drug Fury used in canon to fake his death and in this, Bruce uses as Hulk's anti-anxiety/sleeping pill.
> 
> Notes:  
> Walking like you're supposed to be there is a highly valued spy skill. Most people don't question little inconsistancies because it's not important and it's extra effort. Matt's not being pegged, because everyone who knows Matt Murdock knows he's blind, and as he says, a blind spy doesn't seem to make much sense.
> 
> Matt's met Hoffman before, which is how he can identify him based on body shape, pace, scent, and a number of other things, without seeing him. Hoffman's just scared enough right now to think Matt's Agent persona has a file on him.
> 
> Brett's crush on Skye is a personal headcanon. He knew her because they were in the same Computer class in high school because Skye is a genius and was a few years ahead, while Brett had. He never said anything because she was too young at the time, and he's not that big a creep, but a three year gap isn't that bad in your 20's. Matt's warning him off as a big brother but covering it under grim humor about Anatoly Ranskahov.
> 
> In this canon, Blake was roughed up by Natasha, but he didn't believe it was really her. That suits her, she likes working in the shadows and not being "seen". Skye would prefer he not focus on Natasha's breasts while she's interrogating him, though.
> 
> Matt knows things about Hoffman's thoughts he's keeping secret and that's an uncomfortable sort of power for someone to have over you. Frequently people attribute that sort of power to their elders and to religious authorities, thus the grandma-and-pastor comparison.
> 
> Blake was hit by Jemma when she was defending Fitz and Anatoly's body. She was scared, dirty, and is a fairly petite person, so Hoffman and Blake filtered that through their understanding and think she was one of the Russian's "commodities" and as such call her a teen hooker.
> 
> Fridges can be super dangerous for small children, especially if you use them for more than food. Matt's fridge is currently a child-safety horror show of medical supplies and beer.
> 
> Mixing narcotics and alcohol is dangerous, but Matt knows that, hence asking. He also just doesn't like being on hard meds in general because they mess with his senses in ways he can't risk. Skye respects that and he trusts her.
> 
> There are different opinions on how best to store beer. Skye ascribes to Bucky's model, which is that cheap beer can be cold, but good dark beers shouldn't be refrigerated.
> 
> In the flashback, Skye is upset with Matt, but she's willing to trust his choice. I'm not always the best at writing mild tension, so I thought I'd reassure you.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teasers:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “If Aunt Darcy overwhelms you, look her in the eye and say ‘boundaries’, okay, Zayka?”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic fluff, because decompression is good for the soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Beth_Mac, Shadows_of_Shemai, hhhellcat, Selene_Aduial, ClockWeasel, and the 6 new kudo-ers.
> 
>  
> 
> Remember, you can now vote on names for Zayka. The lists (he's getting two names) are in the end notes, and I'm accepting votes by comment on this chapter and the next before announcing the winner. All readers get one vote per list, but because the UN isn't keeping this fair and I like bribes, any artwork or 'inspired by' fic that you link directly to this fic in the open voting time will earn you one extra vote (just one, not one per list, gotta keep it sort of fair for the non-creators).

Matt went by Foggy’s place with Skye first thing in the morning to pick up the kid they’d saved from the docks.  He had to admit, Foggy was good with kids, and even managed to keep most of the toys contained to the area between the two sofas and the TV.

“Matt, stay in the aisle between the entrance and the kitchen, my living room is a minefield,” Foggy warned.  “We had a bit of a full night.”

“I can see,” Skye laughed.  “You like Uncle Foggy’s lego collection, huh, Zayka?”

“Hai,” Zayka chirped.  He sounded much more cheerful.  Ah, to be young and resilient.  “We played letter blocks.”

“I have a set of modified legos for teaching spelling and punctuation,” Foggy explained.  “Also, I have a list of potential names as chosen from baby name websites and vetted by the kid.  I figure you’ll want to talk it over with him.”

“Thanks, Foggy,” Matt said gratefully.  “We couldn’t do this without you.”

“Ah, you know, anything for family, right?” Foggy joked, but his capillaries flushed under his cheeks.  “How’d the hospital trip go?”

“One scum bag owes us his life, and another his job,” Skye said grimly.  “Actually, both owe us their lives, since we let one pretend to kill the other.  It’s complicated, but Blake’s in medical custody of SHIELD now.  As soon as the doctors there clear him, he’ll testify.”

“That’s a relief,” Foggy sighed.  Matt could smell the stress on him, and felt sort of bad for dragging Foggy, bright and happy Foggy, through all this.  “So, you all heading to church?”

“I think I am,” Matt said.  “I need to get my head straight.  What about you, Skye?”

“I’d like to, but I promised Natasha that I’d come see her, and I know that if I don’t make time soon, it’s just not going to happen.  Also, we need to get Zayka a suit for Mass, and Natasha has a seamstress who can do the fitting.  I remember how much you hated the suits that didn’t fit right.”

Matt chuckled and reached out for her hand.  She took it and gave it a gentle squeeze.  Her nail polish felt glossy under his fingertips, and he knew the scent of her hand lotion would stay on his skin the whole morning, a sign of his family.  He could tell from the unvoiced sigh of a smile and the relaxing thum-THUMP of her heart she knew what he was doing, and she thought it was sweet.  He leaned down to give Zayka a hug, then swept him up and spun him once before handing him to Skye.

After they left, Matt gave Foggy a short hug.  It was awkward hugging someone who he usually refrained from hugging unless drunk, but Foggy had stopped using shampoo with artificial strawberry scent and Matt wanted a hug.

“What’s that for, Buddy?” Foggy asked.  “Not that I’m complaining, I love hugs, but I’m a bit confused.”

“Thank you for not being the kind of friend who would murder me in the night,” Matt said.  “I know that’s really random, but I realized last night how very screwed up best friends can be and I’m glad that’s not us.  It isn’t, right?”

“Of course not, Matt!” Foggy said.  “I’m here for you, buddy.  One hundred and ten percent.”

Mat laughed offered a fist-bump.  It was good to know he and Foggy would make it through this.  Now, he wanted to go to Mass and maybe find a little bit of peace in his world on fire.

<^>

Father Lantom was starting to think that the Heavenly Father, for all His infinite wisdom and grace, had somehow gotten him confused with Samson.  Or maybe Saint Jude.  Why else would a liberal-leaning Roman Catholic Priest ever be called on to minister to the spiritual needs of two thirds of the world’s most famous super-relationship?  Of course, Steven and Bucky were wonderful boys, very respectful, and more than generous with the alms box and collection plate, but sometimes Father Lantom wished for something he had a bit more experience in handling.

Maybe he should learn not to question the Lord’s will, he thought to himself as Matthew Murdock began his confession   The long list of violence and wrath fit right in with all the times Father Lantom had been called to minister to Mob members and criminals.  It did not help at all that while Matthew knew these to be sins, he didn’t seem to see them as bad, exactly.  He had every intention of going out and doing it again, and again, as often as needed.  And it was needed, Father Lantom had to admit in his heart.  He didn’t like that he lived in a world where warriors must be called on in such a way, but he’d tended to the spiritual wounds of the people Matthew saved often enough to know he did.

“My son,” he began.  “Have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe…  _ you _ don’t have to do this?”

“You know what the streets are like, Father,” Matthew argued.  “I don’t  _ like _ it, actually, no.  I do.  But I don’t like that I like it.  That doesn’t mean that I can sleep at night without going out to punch evil in the face.  Someone has to.”

“If I agree, for the sake of argument, that someone does have to,” Father Lantom sighed, “my question still stands.  Have you considered that someone doesn’t have to be you?  There are agencies out there, your sister, a kind strong woman, and may the Lord bless her, works for one.  Can you, in your heart, accept that they maybe know something about something and let them take up this task?”

“No,” Matthew said instantly.  At least he was honest.  “I can’t accept that I can do the things I can and then do nothing to help the people I hear crying out for it.  I’m just trying not to lose to the darkness inside me while I’m busy fighting the darkness out there.”

“Alright.  That’s fair enough, but I think it shifts this from a sacrament of penance to something closer to therapy,” he said.  “I know you, though, you like the flavor.  So my son, there’s only one thing left for you to do in your attempts to reconcile with God.  For every dark thing that you face out there, every evil that you fight, you must glorify one bright and beautiful thing.  Punishing evil at the cost of all else only sours a man’s soul.  Nurture any goodness you can, Matthew, it may be your only hope.”

“Yeah, I uh.”  Matthew chuckled.  “I think I’m adopting a child.  My niece and my sister and I… and Clint, he’s Natasha’s… mmm, not-husband.  We found a child at a recent attack site.  He doesn’t have any family, as far as we can tell.  I want to look into how we adopt him officially.”

“That’s wonderful, Matthew,” Father Lantom said with relief.  “Children are a joy that helps remind us of the hope we hold for the future.  I hope you’ll bring him to church soon.”

“We will.  As soon as we can get him a new suit.  Natasha offered to take him to get one.  I’ll be back next Sunday, hopefully with the whole family.”  Matthew sighed happily.  “I’m really glad I have family now… even if they are all of dubious moral caliber.”

“My son,” Father Lantom chuckled, “If I’ve been following along correctly, one of your newly found family is Steve Rogers.  That man has the least dubious moral caliber I’ve ever seen.”

“Steve doesn’t count, he’s the white sheep of the family,” Matthew joked.  “Thank you Father.”

“Anytime, my child,” Father Lantom said.  “God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.  Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace.  I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Silently, he prayed to God to give him the strength of will and the wisdom to help guide his more heroic flock.

<^>

Skye adored her family.  They were loving, and open, and for a group of people who had some serious issues, surprisingly well balanced.  They also handled the fact that one of their own showed up claiming a malnourished preteen with no name as her child much better than anyone has a right to.

“Are you kidding?” asked Darcy.  “I love kids, I mean come on, I have  _ thirty _ .”  

“I thought Natasha only had twenty six sisters,” Skye said, confused.

“She doesn’t claim Lena as a sister anymore, but I still count her as my daughter.  So that’s twenty eight from the Red Room.  Adopting Zoe and Harley brought me up to an even thirty.  Ohh, this summer Zoe and Zayka can hang out together, they’re about the same age.  In the meantime, we’ve got plenty of play space and loads of babysitters.  I’ll go get the toy box out so he can entertain himself, too.”

“Darcy!” Skye called, but the Avenger had already left.  “If Aunt Darcy overwhelms you, look her in the eye and say ‘boundaries’, okay, Zayka?”

Zayka nodded and went to poke at the floating hologram in the corner.

“You’re a good cousin, Jarvis,” she said, sighing.

“Thank you Miss Barnes,” Jarvis said quietly.  “It’s helpful for me to practice unobtrusive social interaction with the children, since adults have already decided where they stand on sentient AI.  The ones who like it won’t often tell me if I’ve crossed a line, and the ones who think it’s evil… I’m not sure anyone likes being threatened.”

“Fair enough,” Skye nodded.  She could relate.  The first few weeks with HERO had been a mess of unconfessed motives and privacy violation on both sides.  “Can you ask Pepper for a recommendation of a lawyer to settle custody issues who isn’t… y’know, one of the adopting parties?”

“Of course, Miss Barnes.  Would you also like a recommendation of schools and local pediatric services?”

“Yes, please, Jarvis.  It’s so great having you around to help with this stuff.  I haven’t even been a mother for a week and I’m beat.”

“Sergeant Barnes has told you that you can rest here in the Tower whenever you need to.”  Jarvis’ tone was almost smug.  “We have more than enough capacity to care for your child while you recover from what I gather must be a very stressful month.”

“Yeah, learning what I did about my bio-dad, Matt, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen… it’s been rough.  I’m going to take you guys up on that and eat half my body weight in junk food and crash on one of your stupidly comfy sofas.”

“May I suggest the Zero Gravity massage chair that Sir recently purchased for Miss Lewis?  It has eight base programs and I can step in if you need anything more specific.”

“Jarvis, I think I love you,” Skye sighed.  She grabbed a bag of gummy bears out of the pantry and followed the lights to the massage recliner.  “Call Matt and tell him I might not be home for dinner?”

“Of course.  And if I may say, we all love you too, Miss Barnes,” Jarvis said.  “Your usual relaxation track?”

“Mmhmm,” Skye agreed around a mouth of processed sugar.  The faint sounds of SJ Tucker floated over the speakers and she drifted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Minefield: literally, a place with bombs buried in it. In this case, a place with lots of poking/tripping hazards.  
> Vetted: looked over to veto anything too horrible.  
> Samson: a Biblical figure of great strength.  
> Saint Jude: Saint of Lost Causes.  
> Alms box: the box for charitable donations that all go to the community, separate from the collection plate which is for church upkeep.  
> White sheep: the one good/reputable person in a group of bad/disreputable people. Opposite of black sheep.  
> Zero-Gravity massage chair: [basically this](http://www.brookstone.com/pd/renew-2-zero-gravity-massage-chair-by-brookstone/315959p.html).
> 
> Notes:  
> It's polite to tell a blind person entering your home for the first time where everything is, and after that you can check if they want a refresher on the layout. Foggy has known Matt long enough that he ordinarily wouldn't bother, but the place is messier than normal.
> 
> [Modified lego bricks](https://thisreadingmama.com/spelling-with-lego-letters/) can be used to teach spelling and punctuation. He uses red for vowels, green for punctuation, blue for letters with tails, and yellow for tall letters. Foggy has a large set because his sister Candice has five kids, and a smaller kit in duplo for smaller hands that's only capital letters coded by phonetics: vowels in red, voiced consonants (like V and D) in blue, unvoiced consonants (like F and T) in yellow, and the C block is green because it can go either way.
> 
> The list (which you all can vote on names) is as follows:  
> American Names:  
> Frank-- after Franklin, aka Foggy, could also be after Saint Francis Xavier, who's feast day was the day Zayka was rescued.  
> Jack-- after Matt's Dad.  
> Thomas-- Patron of lawyers and adopted children, different Thomas is patron to the blind.  
> Patrick-- Patron of New York   
> Nicholas--Patron of Children, means "victory of the people" 
> 
> Japanese Names:  
> Yukio-- happy or fortunate boy  
> Hiromitsu-- large light  
> Koji-- little one  
> Takuma-- genuine support  
> Shiro- white
> 
> Father Lantom is reflecting on the common belief that God doesn't give people more than they can handle. Of course, be careful what you wish for, since any Catholic Priest in Hell's Kitchen has likely got lots of experience doing confession for violent criminals. Matt's not the same, since his motives are different, but he is very violent and vigilante activity is illegal.
> 
> The ethics of vigilantism are a complex subject, one that Matt often comes face to face with in the comics (and in season two, Punisher and Daredevil make excellent foils.) Matt's on a 'great power, great responsibility' position, and Lantom's on a 'maybe try moderation for a change, Matt' position.
> 
> Priests do both the Sacrament of Reconciliation (aka Confession) and faith-based therapy. Usually the window dressing of one is not used for the other, but Lantom adapts, especially since he's pleased about the new kidlet.
> 
> At this point, Harley is 13, and Zoe is 11. Zayka's age is unknown, but he looks about 11. Developmentally, he's much younger seeming, because the Black Sky process removes large chunks of former understanding.
> 
> Parenthood involves a lot of resource gathering, and Skye basically skipped both the "expecting new baby" time for that, and the "working up adoption paperwork" time for that. Fortunately, she has Jarvis.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “I…” Zayka trailed off. Matt put his arm around the boy’s slim shoulders in encouragement. “I want two names. One Japanese, for where I came from, one American, for where I am. Please.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news bring frustration and plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To ValkyriePhoenix, Beth_Mac, Lesa, QueenOfTheQuill, Shadows_of_Shemai, FantasyTLOU, tigrislilium, minishadowsoul, hhhellcat, wenchred, ClockWeasel, Selene_Aduial, Maharet, SionnachOiche3, ladybold, and the 8 new kudo-ers.

When the news broke about Wilson Fisk, it didn’t break the way Matt wanted.  The plans they’d concocted revolved around someone hidden, someone using the shadows to pull strings.  Fisk stepping into the light of his own volition ruined a good half their plans and frankly, it pissed Matt off.  Unfortunately, there was almost nothing on Fisk in any public record, or even in the super secret records Skye and Darcy could dig up.  No access.

“Matt, bro, take a deep breath and count to ten,” Skye said from beside him, working her hands around one of his, opening the fist he hadn’t known he’d made.  “You need to model good ways of handling your anger while Zayka’s at home.”

“Right.  Right.”  Matt shook himself and turned off the news.  “Who wants to look at the list Uncle Foggy made of names?  We can focus on something happy for now, and then when we’re at work, we can try to actually get some forward progress.”

“That sounds great,” Skye said warmly.  They sat on the sofa and Zayka squirmed in between them, presumably to read along with Skye.  “Okay, first on the list is Frank.”

“That was Foggy messing with us, trying to get our kid named after him,” Matt said.  It was a good thing he was already blind, he was sure he rolled his eyes hard enough to detach his retinas.

“It doesn’t mean it’s a terrible name, though,” Skye said.  “What do you think, Zayka?  Do you want to be named after Uncle Foggy?”

“Mm,” Zayka hummed.  “I want my own name.”

“Fair enough,” Skye said, and the sound of a pencil told Matt she was striking it from the list.  “Next up are two Japanese names, Yukio,  meaning happy or fortunate boy, and Takuma, meaning genuine support.  Opinions?”

“They’re not terrible,” Matt said.  “Are there any good saint’s names on the list?”

“Nicholas, patron of children, and it means victory of the people,” Skye read.  “Or Thomas”

“The patron of lawyers and adopted children, or the patron of blind people?”

“Either?” she said with a shrug into his arm.  “It’s fitting, but we can have that as a middle name, depending on what we also like.”

“I…” Zayka trailed off.  Matt put his arm around the boy’s slim shoulders in encouragement.  “I want two names.  One Japanese, for where I came from, one American, for where I am.  Please.”

“Of course, buddy,” Matt said smoothly.  “Two names it is.  Thomas is a good one for your American name, but we can look at others too.  What’s next on the list for Japanese?”

“Yoshi,” Skye read.  “Okay, no.  I’m vetoing that.  It’s super appropriate and beautiful, but I keep seeing the Mario character.  I’m not saddling a child with a name that gets them bullied.  What about Hiromitsu, meaning large light?”

“That’s alright” Zayka said.  He was starting to squirm a little, shifting awkwardly.

“Okay,” Matt said.  “I think we’re all calmed down enough and I seem to recall Uncle Clint promising you a trip to the park.  So make sure you’ve got your shoes and jacket on, okay buddy?” 

Zayka cheered and Matt shot a grateful smile at his sister.  “You knew what I needed, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” she laughed.  “I’m always right.  At least about when you need to relax.”

<^>

Ben sighed and opened the drawer of his desk.  He hated calling the number he was about to, going to that length over a story, but he honestly believed Karen, Isabelle, whoever she was, when she said this felt a lot bigger than a headline.

“Barnes-Lewis-Rogers residence, this is Darcy speaking,” said a cheerful female voice.  Ben couldn’t help but smile, Darcy Lewis did that to people.

“Darcy, it’s Ben Urich, from the Bulletin.”  He paused, fidgeting with a pen.

“I know that,” she said, playfully.  He could about picture the sassy eye roll that went with it.  “We have amazingly good caller ID and you’re using a burner phone we gave you.  What’s up?”

“I take it you haven’t seen the news,” he sighed.  “Fisk is out of the shadows, and he got ahead of us.  My editor thinks he’s the second coming… hell, the whole city does as far as I can tell.”  

“So keep digging,” Darcy ordered, and Ben fought down a shiver in the irrational fear that she’d know how badly the sudden switch in her tone unnerved him.  Fun-loving young woman to cold-blooded spymistress in two point five seconds.  “He’s a bigger target now and everyone has dirty laundry when they play with the crowds he has.”

“I have been,” Ben insisted.  “The internet went from not knowing a damn thing about him to filled with three-hanky stories about a little fat kid from Hell’s Kitchen.  Abandoned by his father when he was twelve, mother died a year later.  Now he’s all boot straps and a big dream.”

“Somebody knows something,” she said calmly.  “It’s just a matter of asking the right people the right questions in the right tone of voice.”

“Yeah, and that’s how you get yourself killed,” Ben sighed.  “I’ve been on organized crime since the start of my career, I know that.”

“I didn’t mean you,” Darcy told him.  “I have lots of people on my list and between my boys and my daughters, we’ve got… call it an impressive vocal range.  You just find me the right questions.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said instinctively.  “You can count on me.  Should I coordinate with Page and Nelson on this, or will they be busy?”

“You do that voodoo you do so well,” she said, shifting back into happy.  It was almost worse when she slid that direction.  “I don’t tell Steve how to play frisbee, I won’t tell you how to do your job.  Call if you need anything.  I mean anything.”

Ben nodded before he realized that for one, he was on the phone, and for two, she’d hung up.  That was one scarily effective woman.

<^>

Foggy looked at his people as Ben laid out the level.  Karen was ready to storm the barricades, from the look of her, Matt was pissed as hell and utterly still, meaning stupid risks were on the menu, and Skye was fidgeting with some electronic toy he figured would likely explode in less expert hands.  Nobody was happy.

“Can we…” he started, then shook his head.  “No, you know what, no.  This is my home, and for all I love and respect the man, Steve is from goddamn hipster  _ Brooklyn. _  We’re not calling the Avengers unless we have to.”

“I’m under orders from the scariest Millennial to ever hold a taser to call if we need anything,” Ben said, “but I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Nelson.  Besides, until we can find proof, none of this can go within five miles of official Avenger business.  The last thing we need is for some idiot to decide to arrest them for fighting the good fight… or worse, _draft_ them.”

Matt started to chuckle.  

“That would not go well," Skye said with a wry grin.  

"But what can we do?" Matt asked.  "Fisk is controlling the whole story, start to finish, and there’s no dirt.  I can’t even get close to the money trail because I let Owlsley slip me once and now they’re all body-guarded to the teeth.”

“Not your fault,” Skye insisted.

“So…” Karen started, then blushed.  “So we keep digging.  I don’t care how rich Fisk is, nobody can totally erase their past.  I know.  I have the closest fucking thing to an air-tight story, handcrafted by people who have been doing this since World War Two.  Ben still figured me out.  Somewhere out there has to be a piece of paper, a witness… the truth.”

“What about Confederated Global?” Foggy asked, light suddenly dawning on him.  “The suit, that hired us to defend Healy?

“James Wesley,” Skye filled in.  “Professional middle-man, turned fanatic.  Probably serving as Fisk’s right hand, definately dangerous.  What about him?”  

“It would explain his position, at least,” Foggy said, pulling the front page out of his pocket to show her.  “Right next to Fisk at his big press conference, literally at his right hand.  Out in the open.”

“I looked into that,” Ben said, nodding.  “According to FCC filings, ConFed Global is where Fisk gets most of his reported income.”

“Okay,” Matt said, grin hitting his face.  Foggy knew that look, he’d had a breakthrough.  “Fisk is connected to ConFed Global, which means he’s connected to Westmayer-Holt…”

“Westmayer-Holt is strong arming tenants out of their rent-controlled apartments,” Karen told Ben.  “Hired by Armand Tully.”

“The slumlord?” Ben said, sounding surprised.

“Who Landman and Zack say is on vacation on an island no-one can pronounce where they use coconuts as phones,” Foggy said, rolling his eyes for Ben’s benefit.

“Until he gets back from that three hour tour,” Matt snarked, “We pull the thread, Westmayer-Holt to ConFed to Fisk.  See what we get.”

Ben agreed to dig up dirt from his contacts, and Foggy scheduled a lunch date with Marci for some back-channel discussion and cake that was out of his price range and over her daily calorie limit.  Karen took the chance of an empty day to arrange information sharing with someone named Jarvis that Skye recommended, while Skye went to some restricted access hospital to check on someone she wasn’t naming, and Matt kept going on their actual case, keeping Mrs. Cardenas from being evicted.

An hour later, Foggy broke the news that Tully was a dead end, and that Fisk had successfully delayed being the owner of record until after Tully was on an island with no extradition treaty.

“I really hope you guys have more than I do, because I am so sick of Fisk.  He blew the hell out of my city, he went after Karen, and now he’s going to get away with treating nice elderly ladies like dirt.  That guy needs to be hit in the nuts.  Repeatedly.”

“Choir, preaching, et cetera,” Karen said, waving a hand in frustrated agreement as Matt went to get the door that hadn’t yet been knocked on.  Mrs. Cardenas came in, clutching her purse and refusing to be cheered up by even the really bad beginning Spanish Foggy greeted her with.

Turned out money couldn’t buy you everything, but enough money might buy you a rent controlled tenement building from scared, frustrated homeowners.

“Maybe they should,” Matt said, the hopeless tone in his voice hurting Foggy in his chest.

“No!” he protested, before he could let his brain talk him out of it.  “Tell them to stand firm.  We said we were going to help her, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Such a good boy,” Mrs. Cardenas said adoringly.  Then she rattled off some Spanish, and Karen shared that she was going to help convince her neighbors.  Maybe not _all_ of them, but maybe _enough_ of them.  “I no go.  This my home,” she said firmly, her eyes glinting dangerously.  “We fight, yes?”

“Yes!” Foggy cheered.  “Si.”

“He is good man,” Mrs. Cardenas told Karen.  “All of you, good.”

“Wait,” Matt called out, pulling a phone from his pocket.  “Take this.  Sólo hay un número.  Llame si necesita ayuda.  Please be safe.”

Once Mrs. Cardenas was out the door, Matt sighed.  “I’m not sure we should have done that.”

“What?” Foggy asked, dumbfounded.  “Not fight for the rights of the little guy?”

“Fisk wants those apartments, he’s not going to stop until he gets them.  He’s ruthless.”

“He’s some rich dickhead who thinks he can pay people to kiss his ass,” Karen said firmly.  She picked up the paper and waved the front page for emphasis.  “He’s standing on the steps of City Hall with his rich cronies like he’s already won.  We can’t let him get away with this.”

“I know,” Matt sighed.

“So what are we gonna do?” Foggy asked, hauling firmly on Matt’s depressed mindset, trying to shortcut his friend from ending up needing to be scraped off of Josie's floor.

“Basic tenant of both law and war, know thy enemy,” Matt said, grabbing his jacket.

“What’s that mean in English, Sun Tzu?”

“Keep digging,” Matt said with a grin.  “Three people stood at that podium with Fisk.  Mr. ConFed Global, Owlsley, and a woman.”

“Oh no…” Foggy moaned softly.

“Her name is Vanessa Mariana,” Karen read from the paper.  “It says she works at Scene Contempo Gallery.”

“Maybe it’s time I invested in some art,” Matt said, shit eating grin solidly on full high-beam.

“I’m going to regret this,” Foggy said as his friend walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Three-hanky stories: stories that intentionally pull on the feels of the reader.  
> Boot straps: reference to the term "pull yourself up by your boot straps" or to build yourself up from nothing, a big part of the American Dream.  
> Frisbee: the discus-like toy that's similar to how Steve throws the shield.  
> Three hour tour: reference to the show Gilligan's Island, about a group stranded on a deserted island while on a three hour tour. Known for using coconuts in scientifically improbably ways, such as to build a radio to call for help.  
> Choir, preaching, et cetera: relates to the saying "you're preaching to the choir" or "I agree".   
> Sólo hay un número: There is only one number.  
> Llame si necesita ayuda: Call if you need any help.
> 
> Notes:  
> Matt does have coping skills, they're just buried under a pile of anger-management problems and frustration. Fortunately, Skye is pretty good friends with a man who has absolutely breath taking anger management problems.
> 
> Foggy's real first name is Franklin, however, the day Zayka was rescued was also the feast day of St. Francis Xavier, so it's not terrible. (It also didn't get many votes in the poll, so I'm having people express reservations.)
> 
> The current standings in the poll are:  
> 10 votes for Thomas  
> 2 votes for Nicholas  
> 1 partial vote for Frank (voter is still pending on bribe work)  
> 6 votes for Yukio  
> 4 votes for Takuma  
> 2 votes for Hiromitsu  
> 1 vote for Koji (meaning little one)
> 
> Remember, you can still vote in the comments! If you already voted last chapter, I'll let you vote again, just because it's getting hard to track and I want this done soon. So pair up an American name and a Japanese name and get yer vote on!
> 
> Darcy isn't going to make Ben do things that are unsafe, but she isn't the one who can research quietly on this, he is. So she wants him to find weak places and then she can apply whatever pressures would work best, because her family has loads of ways to apply said pressure.
> 
> The various Boroughs of New York have a friendly (usually, anyway) rivalry going and Foggy is hardcore a Manhattan person. Steve is hardcore a Brooklyn person. Thus Foggy wanting to defend his own home.
> 
> Bucky and Steve would not react well to a draft, as we saw in CA:CW. Skye and Matt know this, they've been friends with them since they moved to the 21st century.
> 
> Matt's TV references are almost all going to be old ones, stuff that was either on broadcast in the early 90's or reruns in that same time. We know he had a tv as a kid, to watch his Dad on, but he probably wouldn't have had one in the orphanage, so he's a bit of a pop culture time capsule.
> 
> Skye thinks of Jarvis as a person, so she talks about him that way. Thus Foggy and Karen assume he's a meat-person. He's okay with that, it gives him the chance to have regular people friends.
> 
> Foggy has a canon established worry about morally dubious women and Matt being in the same room. Of course, Matt has a canon established track record that affirms that worry, so... either way, visiting the Queenpin of Crime isn't likely to end well for anyone.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Every Legacy ever has at some point done something wildly against the regs.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt has a nose for trouble, and Skye isn't good with rules.
> 
> What else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To tigrislilium, Shadows_of_Shemai, ValkyriePhoenix, Selene_Aduial, verstki, nemohana, hhhellcat, SionnachOiche3, and the 2 new kudo-ers.
> 
> The votes are in, and our finalists are Thomas, at 14 votes for the American name, and Yukio, at 8 votes for the Japanese name. Honorable mention goes to Takuma (4 votes), and I'll use that name to show the slow phasing in of names, since it's not a choice anyone will push on him too fast.

Vanessa had never quite met a man like the one who walked in her door with a charming smile and a blind-man’s cane.  Of course, she’d never met a man like Wilson, either, until he walked in with his charming, childlike shyness and rough edges peeking past white suits and sadness.  The world of art had brought many unique people into her sphere of influence.

“I’m told by my guests that my apartment is a bit… stark.  I thought some art might warm it up,” Matthew said, leaning carefully past the issue of his sight.  She appraised his demeanor and smiled.  He might not see it, but he could hear the shift, surely.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say these... _ guests _ were women?”  He laughed and gave a small head shake with his smile.

“Well, I’m not trying to impress the pizza guy,” he said.  He was honest.  That was good, you need honesty, not sight, to truly appreciate art, and she said so.  “Sight helps,” he returned.

“Of course, but there’s something very intimate about experiencing art through someone else’s eyes,” she told him, hooking her arm through his to guide him to the piece she wanted to sell him.  “That’s a good line, by the way, you should use it.”

“If my friend wouldn’t kill me for it, I might,” he said cryptically.  “I’ll admit, I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

“That’s good,” she said, wanting to keep him hooked.  “Art isn’t furniture, if you know what you wanted exactly, you’d just be _decorating_.  Art should move you, excite you, touch you in some way.  Take this piece for example.  It’s one of my favorites.”

“Describe it for me,” he said, lips twisting into a tempting grin.  If she didn’t know how Wilson would react, she might give in to the promises that grin offered.  It would be... a unique experience.

“Imagine a sea of tonal reds,” she said, beginning her usual speech about the way the color could mean so many things, anger, passion, love, even hope.  He stopped her before she could get to the line about balance.

“Nothing that’s entirely reds, please.  It’s a long story.  Do you have anything that looks sort of like the sky?”

“You mean blue?” she asked.  She’d hoped he was better than that.

“No, I mean, like freedom.  Or like the feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you stand too close to the edge of the roof on a summer night and it feels like you might fall  _ up _ forever.”

She gaped at him.  Who knew he had such an artistic heart?  What a shame he was blind, he could have made such beautiful things.  “Matthew…”

“Do you have a man in your life?” he asked, suddenly changing the topic.

“Are you hitting on me?” she asked.

“No, no, of course not,” he assured, “I only meant, what does he like?  If I can get in the mind of a man who won the heart of such a charming woman, it would inform my decision.”

“Well,” she said, glancing over his shoulder.  “You could always ask him yourself.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Wilson said.  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”

“Not at all,” she told him.  “We were just talking about you.  Wilson Fisk, Matthew…”

“Murdock.”

“Ahh, the attorney,” Wilson said, his face getting a dark tinge to it.  “I’ve heard of your work in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“And I’ve heard of yours,” Matthew said, clearly unaware he’d managed to upset Wilson.  “But that’s no surprise.  You know the Kitchen, everyone is living in everyone else’s pocket.  You can’t _sneeze_ without half the grandmothers, abuelas, bubbies, and babushkas offering you a handkerchief.  Nobody gets to have secrets for long, no matter how modest we are.”

“Matthew was looking for some advice from a man of taste,” Vanessa said, hoping flattery would blunt the daggers Wilson was glaring at her client.

“Well, that’s simple,” Wilson said, cheering back up just a hair.  “Buy whatever the lady tells you to.”

“I’ve often found that to be sound advice,” Matthew said with a polite smile.  If he heard the bark in Wilson’s tone, he didn’t betray it in his smile.  “It’s amazing when you’ll find things you have in common, isn’t it?  And in people you never thought to expect.”

“Oh?” Wilson said, his ire rising again.  Vanessa looked at Matthew, hoping he could somehow talk his way out of this.  Wilson had called him a lawyer, after all.

“Well, we’re on opposite sides of a tenancy case,” Mathew said, cocking his head.  “Actually, we shouldn’t be talking at all.”

“Really?” she asked Wilson.  He hadn’t said anything about legal troubles.

“Yes, the rental properties I acquired from Mr. Tully.  But I’m sure that will soon be settled to everyone’s benefit,” he assured her.  “The city has suffered long enough under the burden of poverty and decay.  But now we have a chance to...”

“Wilson,” she chided affectionately.  “Mr. Murdock is a client, not a donor.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Matthew said, easily forgiving all in a small gesture with the hand holding his cane.  “The city is important to both of us, I believe, and we must fight for what is important to us.  However, until the tenancy case is settled, I had best step away from this conversation.  It could… severely damage the credibility of any success I had, were I to buy art from someone so close to my opponent.”

“And your firm is young,” Wilson said, nodding in understanding.  Vanessa walked Matthew out and returned to her lover.

<^>

Matt tapped his way down the center aisle of the sanctuary, heading towards the heartsounds; Skye’s thundering metronome and Father Lantom’s softly arrhythmic hummingbird.  the air was thick with incense and wood polish, but the building was empty, save for them.

“You know,” Lantom said, after Matt genuflected and sat.  “I used to like to take a moment at the end of the day, just him, and me.”

“Can you put in a good word?” Matt asked.

“What did you do?” Skye asked.  “That’s your ‘I messed up’ face.”

“I went to see a woman close to…”  He tilted his head and Lantom waved at him.

“No names.  The Seal doesn’t cover this.”

“The Devil,” Matt said.  After all, the city was loudly proclaiming the Devil blew up Hell’s Kitchen, and who was he to say Fisk wasn’t somehow related.  “Not to hurt or scare her, just to get his measure.  To see if there was any other way to….”

“To do what you think must be done,” Father Lantom supplied gently.  “I’m no stranger to the idea of a Holy War, Matthew.  I know why you went.  What did you learn?”

“That he has someone he loves.  Someone who loves him, who would mourn his loss.”

“Few things are absolute,” Lantom sighed.  “Even Lucifer was once an angel.  That’s why judgement and vengeance are best left to God.  Especially when murder is not in your heart.”

“How do you know?” Matt asked him, hoping for something, anything to hold onto.  Skye sat beside him and he smelled the salt from her tears as she ducked under his arm.

“Because you’re here,” Lantom said firmly.  “Beside your sister, seeking guidance and compassion.  You know that if you kill him, you are lost to my help forever, yet you cannot stand idle.  But there is a wide gulf between inaction and _murder_.”

“People have been using the things their enemies do as excuses as long as we’ve had people, Matt,” Skye said softly.  “You know what Natasha and Bucky went through, all because of excuses like that.  We are not those people Matt.  We track them down and we make them face real justice for what they do.  We don’t get to play God, we just take the tools we have and try not to make things worse.”

“Is that what he told you?” Matt asked her.  She answered with a hiccupping sob and an arm around his waist.  “Skye, I think giving someone a second shot at life is about as far from what I’m facing as it gets.”

“What are you facing, Matthew?” Father Lantom asked bluntly.  “Are you struggling with the fact that you don’t want to kill this man, but you may have to?  Or that you may not have to kill him, but you want to?”

Matt jerked his head up to stare at the blurry gestalt of his priest.  Sometimes, he had this way of knowing Matt’s innermost thoughts that was… worrying.

“Like a muddied spring or a polluted fountain, is the righteous man who give way before the wicked,” Lantom quoted.  “Proverbs 25 something.  I never could remember.”

“Meaning righteous men have a duty to stand up to evil?” Matt asked.

“Or that a righteous man who gives in to sin is as harmful as if the public well were poisoned, because the darkness of an act like murder will spread.  To family, to friends, neighbors, the entire community.”

“What if it already has?” Matt asked, thinking of how many nights he’d gone without Skye helping him keep a leash on the beast in him, how many people he left for dead, assuming an ambulance would reach them in time as he sped off to the next fight.

“We wouldn’t be sitting here, then, would we?” Lantom asked, and Skye poked her nose into his ribs.  He sounded like he would have said more, but Matt’s phone rang with Foggy’s ringtone, and moments later, Skye’s rang with the burner's tone.

<^>

Skye felt her heart race as she pelted full speed down the hallway of SHIELD medical.  The team had gotten to Elena in time to stabilize her on site while the medevac van got there, but by the time Skye had gotten through traffic, and Matt had stopped to tell Foggy and Karen and then keep them from trying to follow, because their clearances weren’t in yet and SHIELD’s hospital was on the highest levels of secure available, Elena had gone into surgery.

“Skye!” someone snapped, and she barreled into a wall of muscle.  “Skye, damn it, stop.”

Skye blinked up at the person in her way, and up… and up.  Agent Mackenzie was simply too tall, and holding her up by her biceps.  “I have an asset in surgery, Mac,” she said calmly.  “So I’m going to surgery.  If you don’t let me go soon, so are you.”

“Legacies,” he snorted.  “You’re all the same.  You don’t have an asset in medical Skye, you have a civilian.  You only _ have _ a civilian in medical because you’re one of Coulson’s, and because your brother scares the crap out of people when he’s not even trying.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“Every Legacy ever has at some point done something wildly against the regs,” Mac explained, letting go of her arms now that she seemed focused on him.  She still scoped out the fastest path around him.  On principal.  “It’s holdover from when we all needed to watch our backs, because we had Hydra fucks around every corner.  But we don’t anymore.  We beat them.  A lot of good people died doing it, but  _ we beat them _ .  And the days of waving aside every line-cut and incomplete briefing are stretching on a little long.  You can do things the way we do them now.  Which means letting the doctor decide what to do with her, since she’s here, and going to talk to Gonzales about why you’re still in New York when half your team is hot on the trail of  _ your  _ father.”

“He’s not my father, he’s a homicidal monster,” Skye snapped, “and I’m not going with them because I’d put a bullet in his head before we got any answers.  I know where my emotional ties are a liability, Mac, and it’s not in New York.”

“Tell it to Gonzales,” Mac repeated, reaching to turn her towards the hallway to the briefing rooms.  “Fury’s orders, Skye.  We need to see you acting like an agent, and not some reckless kid.  You’ve got a bright future, but people don’t see how competent you are when you’re throwing the weight of Bucky Barnes around like Captain America’s shield.”

“Fine,” she huffed.  “I’m sorry, Mac.  I don’t mean to be bratty, it’s just… this place isn’t just an agency to me.  It’s my home, my first real one.  It was kinda nice being a family, y’know?”

“I know,” he said smiling.  “Think of this as the touching moment on the after-school special, if it helps.  The one where the little sister goes and gets some good life advice from the kind uncle and then we all learn a valuable lesson in honesty or responsibility or something.”

“Now you’re just being a dick,” she said, and changed her course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> The Seal: the Seal of Confession, or the legal/cultural protection on things confessed to your priest. It doesn't actually apply outside the sacrament of confession, and with two of them there, Lantom can't offer that protection.  
> Medevac: medical evacuation, sort of like a super-ambulance.  
> Clearances: paperwork allowing people to know things that are classified, like where the NYC SHIELD medical facility is.  
> Asset: in spycraft, someone who isn't an agent but is helping an agent on a case.  
> Regs: regulations or rules.
> 
> Notes:  
> Matt's mainly here to spy, but he does actually want good art, because Skye, Nat, and Bucky all wind up spending a lot of time at his place. So it's still not the pizza guy, but Vanessa isn't quite right either.
> 
> Matt is talking partly about Foggy not liking his flirting when he says his friend wouldn't like him using that line, but he's also sort of talking about Steve, who has some firm opinions about art as a hook-up method. (Basically he wants people to enjoy their art and then flirt later, _after_ having enjoyed their art.)
> 
> Matt's not going to buy anything red for his place because Bucky is still sort of touchy about that color and Matt can't see the piece to make sure it won't set anything off. He requests something that's like the sky (i.e. freedom) because he likes that feeling and he knows everyone currently stopping by his place regularly needs it.
> 
> Yes, Matt acting all chummy with Fisk and accepting him as a boy from the neighborhood is a threat, but since he looks nothing like a threat in this scene, it flies over Vanessa's head. Fisk catches it, but only because he's looking for threats.
> 
> People on opposite sides of court cases have to be really careful about talking, and shouldn't ever engage in business until the case is settled one way or the other. Matt buying art there would look like a bribe, and could get him investigated or even disbarred if any anomalies (like, oh I don't know, a really super convenient vigilante?) turn up.
> 
> Holy War, or a Just War, is a concept that starts out seeming right or necessary and quickly gets very nasty. Lantom is understandably unhappy his flock contains people walking a narrow line between necessary violence and a Holy War. Fortunately, if they'd already fallen on the bad side of that, they wouldn't be there, doubting themselves, so he can still help them.
> 
> Since I didn't do the full Fall of SHIELD as the canon did it, I'm trying to work in concepts that are connected but not identical. In this case, it's Gonzales and the other members of canon's Alter!SHIELD asking for more accountability and transparency within the agency and being annoyed by how much rule bending and favoritism seems to be happening. Notably, none of that contingent are Legacies, and only a few (like Bobbi) are HERO. They represent the "normal" SHIELD agents, and Fury is so far trying to balance their desires with his own "I do what I want" attitude. I may have a break between the two happen at some point.
> 
> After-school specials are those super sappy tv shows/episodes that had moral overtones. Usually they featured a young character having a problem, getting in trouble, consulting an adult, and learning some valuable lesson. They also come across as lame to most of the target audience, hence Skye calling Mac a dick.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Correlation isn’t causation, but people who annoy Fisk do seem to die a lot."


	28. Speak of the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you go looking for trouble, you find it.
> 
> When you have a family like Matt does, that's worse for trouble than for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Selene_Aduial, Shadows_of_Shemai, tigrislilium, ClockWeasel, hhhellcat, ValkyriePhoenix, SionnachOiche3, Lady_Layla, and the 7 new kudo-ers.

Matt waved for another round of drinks while they waited at Josie’s for Skye to call with more information.  They’d already pumped Bret for information after the SHIELD team had handed the investigation off to the local cops, only really having been there at all because Skye pulled some strings to get Elena to the safety of a hospital sooner.  She’d been stabbed by some junkie who ran off with her purse moments after she’d called, thinking she was being followed.

“When we first got the case,” Foggy said, in the tone of a man staring into his glass like it would reveal answers if he glared hard enough, “Karen and I went to Landman and Zack.  We talked to Marci, and she said there was a ‘criminal element’ in Elena’s building.  Said it was why the workmen couldn’t complete the repairs.”

“Because they feared for their safety,” Karen said, obviously quoting someone.  Probably Marci, although it was hard to put that angry, bitter tone to his image of Marci.  He’d always had a strong image of her, not just from Foggy’s love-sick ramblings, but because high-end bleach and self-tanner and wrinkle creams all had distinct smells.  She was a bottle blonde, but nobody would know, except her hairdresser and Matt, and she was worried about wrinkles and sun damage at an early enough age he could tell she had the kind of brittle femininity some women wore like armor.

“Yeah,” Foggy sighed, stress coming thick and sour on his breath under the smell of whatever toxin Josie was serving them.  “I thought it was bullshit at the time.”

“Maybe it was,” Matt said.

“Tell that to Elena,” Foggy shot back bitterly.

“Oh come on, it doesn’t feel right, and you know it.  What would the odds be that the toughest tenant in a case making the Kingpin of Crime go antsy near his lover would be the only one brutally attacked?  It’s too targeted.”

“Correlation isn’t causation, but people who annoy Fisk do seem to die a lot,” Karen said into her glass.

“And speak of the devil,” Foggy said.  “Josie, can you turn that up?”

There was the sharp click and the rustle of static as Josie turned on the volume, and Matt felt his lip curl as Fisk neatly pivoted the whole event in his favor, the sympathetic and caring savior, swooping in to offer refuge from the dangerous streets of Hell’s Kitchen.  He snorted as he heard his own words from the basement of the warehouse where Sullivan had died, where Vladimir had died, where he’d almost lost Skye to the screaming negation of too much blood and death.

“Jesus, he almost sounds like he means it,” Karen snorted.

“I think he does,” Matt said as Foggy answered his phone.  He half heard someone bored sounding confirming Foggy’s identity and relaying Elena’s request for her lawyers.

“Matt, he called you a psycho,” Karen said, seemingly unaware Foggy had stepped away.

“Karen, I’ve been in the same room with the man,” Matt said.  “He’s dangerous, deranged, and guilty of more than I think we’ll ever know, but he’s sincere.  He’s not lying when he says he wants the best for the city… he’s just going about it in a way we find repugnant.”

“I know,” Karen said, leaning back on her chair with a creak of wood.  “That doesn’t stop me from thinking about getting him alone, just me and my pretty extensive untraceable firearms collection that you shouldn’t know exists.  Damn, I think I’m drunk.”

“I’ll take you home,” Matt said.  “Foggy, can you handle Ms. Cardenas without me tonight?”

“Sure, Matt,” Foggy said, heading out the door.

“I don’t want to go to my apartment,” Karen said quietly.  “It… doesn’t feel safe.  And I should probably not be near that totally hypothetical gun collection right now.”

“Come on, I’ll take you to my place and you can watch Thomas for me.”

“Thomas?”

“We’re trying it out,” he said, turning them down the right street.  Karen shouldn’t be driving unless she was far more sober and Mat wouldn’t take the subway until he was far more drunk.  That was okay, he had a lot of experience being the designated walker.

“How’s he settling in?” Karen asked.  “It hasn’t been that long, after all, and everything is so…”

She made some kind of gesture, and Matt pulled her back onto the sidewalk.  “He’s a really resilient kid, I think he’ll be okay.  Of course, he’s also been through a lot and is probably going to need some kind of therapy.  I should ask Darcy where her kids go.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, and leaned on him.  He smiled at the smell of her hair wafted past him.  It smelled sweet and floral, but natural.  Her shampoo had an almond oil moisturizer in it, matching her hand lotion.  “You’re a good dad.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Matt said, opening the door to his building.  “I’m pretty new at it.  I just hope I do at least half as well as my Dad did.  It’s a hard act to follow.”

“I hear that,” Karen muttered.  “Granma was a really good parent too.”

He unlocked the door with one hand and opened it just a little.  “Hey there moya plemyan’itsa,” he called.

“Your accent is worse than Mama’s,” Natasha said.  “And that is almost impressive.  I just got Yukio down for the night.  He was worried about you, since Tetya called and said you’d be late.”

“I thought you were trying Thomas?” Karen said, and Natasha helped her forward.  Matt heard the rustle of a coat coming off and a laugh as the air whuffed past the fabric as it fell.

“Tetya and Dyadya are trying that one, Clint and I are trying Yukio,” Natasha explained.  “And Mama and Papa were using Takuma earlier today at the park.  We’ll find something we like, together, as a family.  We always do.  Now sit, you look terrible.  What were you drinking?”

“All hail the Eel,” Matt intoned.  He could  almost feel the raised eyebrow, but her powers of manipulation didn’t quite work as intended on him.  “It was Josie’s, we don’t ask at Josie’s, because we like to keep out sanity somewhat intact.  It gets people drunk, and that’s the point.”

“I like the sound of that,” Nat said.  “I took it from Tetya’s phone call that we go hunting tonight?”

“Probably.  Skye should be here soon with more information,” Matt said, and the phone rang.  Natasha was closest, so he let her answer it and guided Karen towards the bedroom.

“How do you all fit in this tiny  apartment?” she asked sleepily.

“Skye and I tend to share the bed, because we like having someone on hand for nightmares,” Matt explained, pulling down the sheets.  “Thomas has been sleeping on the sofa, but we plan to get him a real daybed to put in my home office.  Of course, that’s assuming he’s okay with having so much space and wall structure between him and us.  Just so you know, he may join you sometime tonight.  Just pet his head and hum a little, he gets back to sleep pretty easily.”

“Mmkay,” Karen said, curling into his pillow as he tugged the sheet back up.  Matt smiled and went to check on Thomas.

<^>

Natasha watched her Uncle place a tender kiss on his sleeping son.  She’d learned a few things about her cousin that evening, waiting for his parents to return, but from the guarded iron of Matt’s spine, they would have to wait.

“I called Papa,” she said, as Matt changed clothes, shucking off his shirt with the same amount of modesty she generally used, which was to say, none at all.  “He said he would be happy to kick open some doors for you.”

“That’s kind of him,” Matt said distractedly.  “Has Skye called?”

“Tetya said she wanted to start with the info she got from Vladimir on the Chinese heroin ring.  Witnesses think the attacker was a user.  I sent Clint to cover her six, so we can start on the other places.”

“Alright,” Matt said flatly, pulling his scarf into place.  “Lead the way.”

Natasha had never gotten the pure thrill some of her family described from freerunning.  Crossing rooftops and scaling walls had always been a mode of transit for her, and nothing more.  She was good at it though, much better than Clint, even with his thousands of hours of obsessive practice and training, and the physical therapy to relearn his old skills after his balance was shaken by the damage to his ears.  She crossed the top of the city with no joy, but great technical skill, her uncle a silent and brooding presence at her shoulder.

They interrogated thugs together, low-level criminals who lacked the training to require her skills with torture.  It was an exercise in control, in ways that she wasn’t used to, the skill of not killing everything from underestimating her strength hadn’t gotten used since she became an Avenger.  With them, she was one of the least physically dangerous, often overmatched by their opponent, and they usually fought things that could be killed with minimal added red in her ledger.  Beside Matt, she was fighting regular people with no special healing or strength, who’d made some very stupid choices in life, but didn’t deserve to die for them.

“The Cardenas hit,” she asked again, digging a nail into the nerves under the junkie’s rib cage, over the gall bladder.  “Who carried it out, who ordered it?”

The man pissed himself and muttered something under his breath.  Matt hit him up under the chin to knock him out, and she added the body to the back of the pick-up she’d liberated.

“This is not working.”

“Take the junkies to the hospital, Natasha,” her uncle sighed.  “Let them dry out and get patched up.  We’ll find the answers somewhere, and at least tonight I can tell myself I haven’t risked killing anyone.  Thank you for that, by the way.”

Natasha lifted a shoulder in acceptance, feeling the old knob of unevenly healed bone on her humerus scrape the edge of the scapula, a permanent reminder of her first gunshot.  She knew her uncle could hear it, and could tell that was a shrug.  She liked how he listened to her body as well as her words, it made the things you don’t say easier.  “Remember to call Papa if you need anything, he wants to help.”

<^>

“I’m glad you’re so prepared,” Bucky commented over the coms as he followed Matt’s path through flophouse central.

“You may mean paranoid,” Skye retorted.  “I’m just glad Natasha called us when Matt didn’t meet her after she dropped off her truck at impound.  I’m slightly concerned about her unloading unconscious drug addicts at local ER’s from that thing, but at least she called us when he ditched her.”

“She’s Clint’s partner,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes as he hopped a fence.  “She knows reckless and needs back-up when she sees it.”

“I want to be offended, but I know that’s true,” Clint said, then a horn blared.  “TURN LIGHTS EXIST FOR A REASON ASSHOLE!”

“Skye, take us off speaker before you get killed,” Bucky sighed.  "I’m almost where you said his signal is.  Has it moved any?”

“Not significantly,” Skye told him over a sound of tapping on a tablet.  “Although it looks like it’s a multi-story, he could be anywhere in that building.”

“Fair enough, Winter Soldier going radio silent.”

The building in question was old, something that seemed like a ghost out of Bucky’s past, half remembered and blurred through years of chemicals and shocks and alternate identities.  Ghosting through the hallways was an eerie experience, especially with the yellow light coming in through newspapers taped to windows of varying degrees of cleanliness and structural integrity.

Bucky turned sharply at the top of the second flight, following the delirious laughter of a junkie to Matt, clearly flummoxed by the man’s reaction.

“You ditched the Black Widow, that’s not easy,” Bucky said neutrally, trying not to scare the civilians.  He looked again, decided that would probably be harder than it seemed, and stepped into the room.  “Why’d you ditch her when you’d found your mission?”

“She keeps me balanced,” Matt admitted, and Bucky saw the lawyer peeking out through the Devil’s mask.  He knew that game well enough to spot someone else playing, even someone who didn’t think he was.  “I don’t like the idea of letting myself get too… of letting the Devil out with her nearby.”

“And you wanted to let the Devil out on him,” Bucky said.  It wasn’t a question, because he also knew this game, too.

“Yeah, I did.  I still do.  But it felt… I don’t know.  Lonely?  Can you feel lonely about beating the crap out of someone?  Guilt, yeah obviously, but I feel lonely, maybe homesick.  That’s not a normal human reaction, I’m sure of it.”

“Buddy, normal is overrated,” Bucky said, and knelt to snap his fingers in the junkie’s face.  He got a few sluggish blinks, but nothing close to standard reactions.  A quick check of his vitals revealed a sick man, but not one close to death.  Bucky popped a capsule of strong smelling herbs under the junkie’s nose, and then dodged the vomit.

“You’re real?”  The man tried and failed to stagger to his feet, ending up in a pile of empty bottles.

“If your philosophy has Death and the Devil as real, yeah,” Bucky agreed amicably.  “Who paid you to stab Elena Cardenas?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you seriously lying to us right now?” Matt asked, voice holding an edge of a laugh, giddy and wrong on his lips.  Bucky frowned.

“Not a good idea,” Bucky interrupted, unsure who he meant.  He didn’t like Matt’s darker side getting that happy, anger was safer.  So was focusing on the mission.  “A lot of very motivated people with wide and unpleasant skillsets hurt a lot of junkies, crooks, and assorted low-lifes tonight, trying to find you.”

“And those lowlifes?  They all say the same thing,” Matt lied, his body fluttering like a tied bird wanting to hunt.  “The asshole who hurt Mrs. Cardenas shoots up at this address, likes cheap menthols because he thinks it covers the stench of his rotting teeth.  It doesn’t by the way.”

“I suggest that you feel special that we care so much, and answer our questions,” Bucky said.  “Who hired you to hurt Elena Cardenas?”

The junkie tried to pull away from him, not an unusual reaction to the mask of the Winter Soldier.  The newest design was a lot more streamlined, but it still covered nose and mouth, and his goggles had a white, back-lit sheen to them that looked spooky in dim lighting.  Sadly for this poor soul, Matt was waiting, and he went from frying pan to fire in a single, shuddering movement.

“Hey there.  You wanna take a chance on me being the nice one?” Matt asked, and Bucky hid both a shudder and a grin.  Nat had taught Matt that smile.  It wasn’t any less creepy on a man.

“I don’t know who they are, they took me to this warehouse... on the docks.  I didn’t want to do it, but they had a big bag of money and high end Steel Serpent if I did it for them, and a bullet if I didn’t.  I’m sorry, man, I didn’t want to do it!  I was hurting, man.”

“Hold,” Bucky said to Matt in a low tone that probably wouldn’t carry an inch past the mask without Matt’s hearing.  “What building on what dock?”

“Pier 81,” the man sobbed.

“Go turn yourself in,” Mat ordered, the happiness thankfully gone from his voice.  “Sergeant Brett Mahoney at the 15th precinct.  If you don’t, we’ll know.  You don’t want to see what happens then.”

Bucky watched Matt stalk out, and thumbed on his coms as he followed.  “We need a pickup here to shepherd this lost lamb to safety.  And send someone who has training as a designated sober, this guy is utterly trashed.”

“Roger that, Papa, I’m on it,” Natasha said.  “I’m actually starting to like dealing with the drugged ones, it’s easy and I feel like I’m giving back somehow.”

“Good for you, Pauk,” he said with a smile under the mask.  “You need more of that feeling in your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> moya plemyan’itsa: my niece  
> Tetya: Aunt  
> Dyadya: Uncle  
> flophouse central: a term for a bad neighborhood, with lots of drug users and abandoned buildings (aka 'flophouses')  
> radio-silent: not speaking on coms, requesting minimal speaking to them that requires response.  
> Steel Serpent: a designer form of heroine made by the Hand.  
> Pauk: Spider, Bucky's nickname for Natasha
> 
> Notes:  
> The phrase "speak of the devil and he shall appear" is shortened to 'speak of the devil' when referring to the sudden appearance of someone who had been spoken of just before.
> 
> Fisk is one of my favorite types of villain, the villain who thinks he's a hero. He really does believe he's acting in Hell's Kitchen's best interests, and he really does see himself as a savior figure. Matt has already had to face the fact they have some stuff in common, but Karen is just now learning that while Matt and Fisks are opposites, opposites are two things alike in all ways except one. That one way for Fisk and Matt is methodology.
> 
> The final vote for Zayka's name was Thomas Yukio (with Thomas Takuma a close second) so those three names are being used in the story as the Most Likely before Thomas Yukio goes on the paperwork. Matt and Skye use Thomas because it connects well to their story (St. Thomas is the Patron of lawyers and adopted children, and a different St. Thomas is patron to the blind.) meanwhile Natasha and Clint are using Yukio (meaning fortunate boy) because they know how lucky one has to be to find a family out of that sort of situation, and Bucky and Darcy are trying out Takuma (genuine support) because they know how important a kid is to staying sane as a superhero.
> 
> Walking home while drunk is dangerous. Even if you aren't planning to drive (or live in a city where driving is kinda dumb and way too expensive like NYC) it's important to have a designated person who stays mostly sober and helps everyone get home safe. Stay safe, drink responsibly, kids!
> 
> The Eel is Josie's signature booze of unknown provenance, and it has... something... floating in the bottom of it (like the worm in tequilla) which was called an eel, hence the name.
> 
> Nat and Clint are often the weakest people on the team, simply because they fight beside gods and supersoldiers. That makes it easy to forget, they're both EXCESSIVELY talented at taking people apart, to the point that Nat has to work to NOT kill people. This is the chance to see her where she's not horribly outmatched and is in fact pulling her punches.
> 
> Nat's first gunshot wound happened when she was a child, as a part of training. It's at the edge of her shoulder socket, and it left a bone scar. The surface got tended to with the intent to remove scars (she has almost no scars from her Red Room work because they didn't like blemished spies) but the bone was not.
> 
> Skye put a tracker on Matt back at the start of the story, which she is now using because he went off alone, clearly to get in trouble. The family is paranoid, so this is a sign of love, not creepy, controlling behavior.
> 
> Matt's method of dealing with his issues by building a persona to put them on works for him, but it also makes him sound like he's not human when he talks about them, which is GREAT psychological warfare. Bucky hard-leans into that for the psychological effect, because while Matt is oblivious to his language implications, Bucky isn't.
> 
> The mask's new design looks more like the comics version of full-face masks, which feature white angular shapes instead of eyeholes. Think the Spiderman goggles effect.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "That’s what you get for lying to your fellow avocado for years about why you hate hospitals; I call Nurse Hottie McBurnerPhone when you get hurt.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight at the docks is avoided, but more dangers await.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To ValkyriePhoenix, Shadows_of_Shemai, Beth_Mac, Selene_Aduial, Incido, SionnachOiche3, hhhellcat, Matlida_Nicki, and the 9 new kudoers. Love y'all.

Matt wrestled his guilt over running off alone down as he stepped into the warehouse on the dock.  The smell of the water, never exactly pleasant, was strong and confusing here, obscuring one of his vital senses in a film of rotting fish and sewage.  He couldn’t afford a distraction here, if he was going to play his part well.

The wind leaked through the windows, the building was old.  Air fluttered papers on a table. Matt moved to touch them,shifting them slightly, waiting for the bounce of sound off of slick, unreadable printouts, or the rough slither of hand-drawn lines.  Hmm. Both, and the spongy sound of stamping ink. He slid a micro camera from his pocket and snapped a few shots of the table in-situ for his sister. If he couldn’t bring them back, he could at least bring their images back.

The air blew against his back, making his skin twitch under the shirt of his costume.  He really needed something thicker, but somehow the more teasing his sister put him through the less he wanted to change his look at all.  

“Anyone want to tell me what I’m looking for?” he muttered.  The com was pinned to his shirt and it rubbed oddly against his chest.

“Take a deep breath, like you saw something shocking,” Bucky advised outside the widow.  “I think the shadow behind you has a person in it.”

Matt agreed, the floorboard under his left foot had dipped marginally, like it was holding two people.  He paused, trying to decide how to act.

“Hey, Matt, I think Karen might have a crush on you,” Skye said casually.

“What in the f-” Matt cut himself short on a cough.  “Skye.”

“It worked, cover your ears,” she said.  Matt obeyed and there was a snap-crack-thud.  “Awesome. I’ll come grab the papers and we can look over them tomorrow.”

“Is there a dead body behind me?” he asked.  Nobody answered him. He refused to move until he got an answer, because the sound behind him hadn’t changed much from when the victim of Bucky’s skills had yet to be shot.  Which was freaking him out. There were supposed to be differences between living and dead. “Guys!”

“Relax,” Bucky said, slapping his arm.  “It was just an ICER. He’s paralysed, but not dead.”

“Sadly,” Skye said, “he’s also wearing an even stupider ninja outfit than yours.  You may have to kill him just to keep the title of worst-dressed ninja in New York.”

“One, I am not a ninja,” Matt said hotly, ignoring the paralysed fighter having his pockets turned out by an assassin in favor of teasing his sister.  “That is a fighting style, but it’s not the one I use. Two, I’m not competing for any clothes-based title. I just like clothes that let me move and keep me hidden in shadows.”

“Thats why his are worse,” Skye sighed.  “Bright red is not good for shadow work. Come on, we should head out.  You  _ don’t  _ want to see what happens next.”

“What happens next?” Matt asked, morbid curiosity building.

“I’m the Winter Soldier,” Bucky said flatly.  There was no life in that voice. No emotion. He’d heard computer programs, non-sentient ones even, with more inflection.  Matt turned to offer support to his brother-by-sister, but the statue stillness of Bucky’s body told him that would be… unwelcome.  

“Thank you,” he said instead.  “For earlier.”

“I’ve got my own demons,” Bucky said dismissed.  “I know. Now go get some sleep and eat something, you’re too skinny.  Human bodies require sustenance to remain active, Devil. In case you forgot, care and keeping of the meatsuit is important.”

<^>

Foggy looked up from the crossword puzzle he’d been filling out to kill time as Matt and Skye limped down the stairs from the roof.

“You look like shit,” he informed his friend.

“It was a rough night,” Matt said, “and don’t say that to my sister.”

“Skye isn’t.. I mean, she’s a vision of loveliness as always… I mean…”  Foggy let his stutters wind to a stop as Matt shot him a shit-eating grin.  “I hate you sometimes.”

“I’m glad it’s only sometimes,” Skye said, patting his shoulder.  “I need help keeping him intact, and everyone I trust to do that at night is about beat.  Tag, you’re it.”

“When do I get to tag out?” Foggy asked, as Matt staggered into the bedroom and passed out beside Karen’s still sleeping body.  Foggy sighed, and ran a hand through his hair before turning to watch Skye pull yogurt from the fridge. “That man is a mess.”

“He is,” Skye agreed readily as she spooned half the yogurt into her mouth without hesitation.  “I’ll pick back up after work tomorrow, later today, whatever. Phil pulled some strings and got me on the security force for Fisk’s fundraiser and I want Matt helping me on surveillance.”

“Is that… a good idea?” he asked, stepping cautiously up to the breakfast bar.  “I mean… Matt, that close to Fisk,  _ again _ ?  Last time he had Elena stabbed.”

“Matt will stay in the van,” Skye informed him, finishing the yogurt and tossing the spoon in the sink.  “And I’m Agent Barnes. SHIELD has a vested interest in maintaining the appearance of free and open democracy in this country, and the recent terror attacks in Hell’s Kitchen make Mr. Fisk a very likely target.  It would be terrible if the masked vigilante were to kill a man many have called on to run for public office.”

“It scares me that there isn’t a lie in that,” Foggy said, and Skye smirked at him.

“Matt’s my brother, I figured out how to lie without lying a long time ago.”

Foggy rolled his eyes as she left, and didn’t ask where she was going.

A few hours later the sun rose, he coaxed Karen through her hangover, fed Thomas, and guilted Matt into letting him double check all the bandages. One cut looked slightly infected.

“I’m calling Nurse Hottie McBurnerPhone,” he told Matt firmly as Karen slipped away.

“Don’t call her, Foggy,” Matt sighed.  Foggy was already punching the number Skye gave him into his phone. “At least don’t call her that.”

“Oh, I am always calling her Nurse Hottie McBurnerPhone,” Foggy sassed.  “That’s what you get for lying to your fellow avocado for years about why you hate hospitals; I call Nurse Hottie McBurnerPhone when you get hurt.”

“What did that estúpido e imprudente idiota do to himself this time,” came the tired voice on the other end.  “And does he really call me Hottie McBurnerPhone?”

“No ma’am,” Foggy replied.  “I used to, because he was a lying liar who lies and I thought the phones were for hookups, but he straightened me out and now I refer to you by your appropriate title,  _ Nurse  _ Hottie McBurnerPhone.”

The woman laughed.  It was a good sound.  “That’s very kind of you.  Now what’s the idiot broken?”

“I heard that,” Matt snapped.  Foggy shushed him.

“There’s a cut on his ribs that’s infected.”

“I can rinse it, it’s fine.”

“It’s bright red and I can feel the heat from here, asshole,” Foggy returned.  “So, what do I do? Bleach? Red-hot iron poker to cauterize the wound? Call his priest for last rites?”

“Nothing that severe,” she assured him, voice still warm with laugher.  “He should still have some antibiotics in that field-kit he calls a medicine cabinet.  He needs two, with food, and smear the wound with antibacterial cream. Use gloves, just in case.  Rebandage it, and I’ll come by when I get off shift to check your work. If it’s the one I remember from last time, it’s not near anything critical and a day’s rest should keep it from getting worse until I can get there and check it again.”

“Awesome, so he’s on bedrest, right?” Foggy asked.  She made an affirmative sound and Foggy sighed. “Well this is gonna suck.  Thanks Nurse Hottie McBurnerPhone!”

“You’re welcome, Avocado Lad,” she said with a chuckle.  She hung up and Foggy shook his head.

“You are so damn lucky with women I don’t even,” Foggy scolded his friend.  “Ap, ap ap ap, no standing up! You’re on bedrest! That means lying down on this sofa and letting us take care of you.  You’re setting an example for your son.”

Thomas looked up at Foggy and Foggy ruffled non-existent hair.  “Keep an eye on your Dad while I go get his medicine, yeah, kiddo?  Don’t let him stand up.”

“Hai!” Thomas chirped and moved to sit on the floor, where Matt would have to kick him to stand up.  It was an effective use of the available material to trap Matt, Foggy admitted to himself.

<^>

Skye swiped on a last brush of foundation over her face.  No trace of last night’s work was left showing, and May and Pepper has coordinated to get her a new little black dress, one with enough fullness in the skirt to hide a small arsenal and also look girlishly charming.  Theoretically. The tulle had yet to win Skye’s heart.

“Okay, Matt, you know the play.”

“I stay in the van, listen to the equipment, wait for a signal.”

“And?”

“And don’t get seen.”  He sighed and Skye bent over to adjust the blanket she’d brought to alleviate the discomfort of the van.  “I don’t get why I have to stay out here.”

“Would you rather have stayed home with Thomas?” Skye challenged.  “That’s always an option. I just thought you’d prefer to be closer to the action.”

“What action?” Matt asked.

“Fair.  Not my problem, but fair.  Wish me luck!” She stepped out of the van and took Trip’s arm.  “You look dashing in that suit.”

“And I’ve got a knockout on my arm,” Trip said with a smile.  “Looks like we both know how to accessorize. How’s the security looking?”

“I’m limited by the infrastructure,” Skye complained.  “The Van Lundt Building is gorgeous, but there’s no practical way to add more cameras.  I did update the system a bit, and I took a page from the Koenig’s book.”

“Lanyards?”

“Lanyards.”  She tapped a nail on the laminated guest badge she’d clipped to her purse.  Each was a small-scale print of a work by an artist who sold through Vanessa Mariana, with a thank you note from Fisk on the back, given to attendees as a souvenir.  They also had RFID chips embedded in them, to track movement in the building from tiny readers at every door and every centerpiece. Nobody here was going to go untracked.

“Agent, it is so good to finally see you, face to face,” Ms Mariana said, coming up to the two agents as the room began to fill.  “It means the world to Wilson that SHIELD is supportive of his efforts, although you should know, he doesn’t intend to run for office.”

“Which is why the secret service isn’t here in our place, Ms. Mariana,” Skye said softly.  “SHIELD is mainly concerned that the… nature, of the potential threat may be unique.”

“That’s a nice way to say freak in a mask,” Lealand Owlsley muttered.  “Vanessa, Wilson would like a word.”

Vanessa excused herself and Skye plastered a fake smile on for the man who nearly killed her brother.  “I’m Lealand...”

“Lealand Owlsley, financial advisor to Mr. Fisk,” Skye interrupted.  “I know, I vetted all the invites.”

“You’re sure taking this masked vigilante thing seriously, aren’t you?”  He laughed and Skye felt her fingers twitching for her ICER.

“Of course, New York is still recovering from the Chitauri Incident,” Trip lied smoothly.  “It’s imperative we take any widespread bombing here as seriously as we can. The people of the world need to know, SHIELD is there to protect them.”

Owlsley nodded and muttered something vague, but fortunately wandered off.

“God I hate that guy,” she sighed.

“Let him bury himself,” Matt advised over her coms.  “He’ll do that soon enough, men like him can’t help breaking rules to get ahead.”

Skye nodded, even knowing Matt couldn’t see her, and resumed the counter-clockwise meander through the guests, murmuring polite nothings as she passed rich snobs who didn’t give two shits about the people who actually lived in the Kitchen.  It was Ian Quinn’s villa all over again, and her smile was beginning to freeze on her face. The sound of a fork tapping a champagne glass bought her a moment’s rest as she assumed a neutral stance.

“Let’s get this shitshow started,” Matt said in her ear.  Skye felt genuine gratitude her brother was here.

“Yeah, let’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> in-situ: in the situation, as they were positioned. A common term in investigation and criminal law.  
> estúpido e imprudente idiota: stupid, reckless idiot  
> Hai: Japanese for 'yes'  
> RFID chips: Radio-frequency identification, chips that use electromagnetic fields to automatically identify and track tags attached to objects. 
> 
> Notes:  
> Matt's investigation tools are better here, and geared toward having someone sighted to double check his work, because he's not operating alone. Also, having Skye feed him a shock over the coms helps him fake sight to draw out Nobu.
> 
> For a fun look at how the enemy sees Matt & Co, try reading Bucky's lines about eating imagining that you aren't actually sure of the relative humanity of the man in the black mask. Inadvertent psyops via snark.
> 
> Matt and Foggy sometimes refer to each other as avocados due to a shared joke. Foggy calls Claire Nurse Hottie McBurnerPhone to tease Matt. Claire overheard the avocado reference, and hence calls Foggy Avocado Lad to welcome him to the crazy.
> 
> Three of the Koenig quadruplets (Eric, Billy, and Sam) work in SHIELD security on safehouses and to hide dangerous items. Eric Koenig was killed by Ward during the kidnapping of Skye, but before that he showed the same fondness for security lanyards to grant access to secure areas.
> 
> The Secret Service is an American agency that provides bodyguards to elected officials that may be under threat (or who are highly enough placed to be assumed targets, like the President) and to people running for office, to ensure nobody can just pick off political rivals. Fisk stated in canon he wasn't intending to run, but his media spin would have resulted in calls to run, hence allowing for SHIELD to claim reason to provide security.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The Black Sky memories had reached out to comfort someone like them, but not them. A sister of circumstance, a cousin of condition.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the benefit, some things are handled, some things are learned, and some things are tested. During the benefit, aa poisoner strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Beth_Mac, Shadows_of_Shemai, hhhellcat, Selene_Aduial and the three new kudoers.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: The inside of Thomas' head is a scary place. He reflects more on personhood and being thing-ified than any child should have to. Please consider your headspace before reading.

Ben Urich sat the box down on Karen’s desk with a heavy sigh.  He hated leaving her to navigate the dangerous waters alone, but Doris was getting worse, not better, and the hospital was cutting off her care.  He didn’t have the time to risk on something like this.

“What’s this?” Karen asked.

“Everything I had on the case.  I’m taking a sabbatical and I thought you should have it.”

Karen opened the box and pulled out the burner phone he’d tucked in last.  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do I really have to convince you,  _ again _ , that this is important?”

“Oh I believed you when you brought the damn Avengers to my office in the dead of night with it,” Ben said, rubbing his face.  “It’s not about the story anymore, Karen…”

“Well, then what about the city?”  She threw her hands up theatrically, and Ben was struck with how you saw the same fire in such different faces, how although she didn’t look a bit like Doris, or him, he could see them both, young and angry at the unfairness of the world, in the fire dancing in Karen Page’s eyes.  “What about the danger it’s in? The danger you’re in, because you’ve been helping? We got ourselves into this hot water, backing out now… it’s even more risky. And you just handed me your hotline to superheroes!”

“I know, our work is risky, it’s complicated.  It’s important,” Ben said, pulling out the flyer Shirley had given him.  “It’s just not the most important thing in my life. The extension didn’t come through.  Doris has to go here, or go home,”

Karen set the burner down and took the flyer and looked at it with a critical eye.  “I’m going to assume you chose home?”

“Yeah.  I made some calls, I can’t put her there.”

“Then don’t,” Karen said harshly, dropping the flyer and grabbing the burner phone back up.  She dialed angrily and started speaking as soon as the sound of the rings cut out. “Darcy, it’s Karen.  Ben needs a favor and I know he won’t ask for it. Yeah, it’s Doris.”

“Karen, I am not asking the Avengers to personally save my wife!”

“Uh-huh, yep, standard refusal reasons, plus you guys are super famous and rich and so Ben feels a little weird asking for it.  Yeah, that sounds like a good work-around. Thanks.”

Ben stared at Karen as she hung up.  “What did you just do?”

“Darcy’s arranging to pay for Doris’ care, indefinitely, via secure internet donations.  She’ll promote it on the Avenger’s social media, and promised not to put more in herself than she usually does for this kind of thing.”

“I’m not okay with the world knowing I can’t pay for my wife’s medical needs!”

“Nobody needs to know,” Karen said with a dismissive wave.  “It’s not a go-fund-me just for her, it’s a full-scale charity to assist long-term-care patients and their families.  I just had Darcy add your name to the recipients list. Steve and Bucky have been working on it for a while, they had me look at a few pages of expenditure data for number-crunching back when I started working the Fisk case with them.   They all work on projects like that in their spare time, actually, Darcy called it ‘moral rest and recovery’. It’s mandatory for her teams.”

“So, what now?”  Ben felt cut-adrift, lost in a world that was stranger and kinder than the one he knew.

“Well, my boss is babysitting my other boss as he recovers, so I’m free to do whatever and I thought I’d head up to a nursing home upstate.”

Ben felt his eyebrow raising of its own accord.  Damn his curiosity. “What did you find Miss Page?”

“Come with me and you can find out.”

Ben shook his head.  “You… are a dangerous woman Miss Page.”

<^>

Thomas Yukio Murdock watched his father closely.  He was a great warrior, more skilled than any of those who had tried to control the Black Sky before.  He relied on his own strength, but also that of those around him. This was… new. Previous Black Sky memories supplied a long list of handlers who were only adequate in a fight, who used and hurt those weaker than them, and chained those stronger.  That Matthew Murdock was nothing like those others fascinated Thomas Yukio Murdock.

“Otosan!  No scratching!” he chided as his father reached for the bandage at his waist.

“Okay, okay.  Watashi wa yori yoku shiyou to shimasu .  Thank you for reminding me.”

Thomas smiled.  That was also new, being praised, thanked, for correcting his handler.  Of course, Matthew Murdock was not a handler, the memories of Black Skies past reminded him.  Matthew Murdock had not bound Thomas Yukio Murdock to his will in any way, had given freely of his innermost self, had given his own name to the Black Sky.

Names were important.

Names granted power.

Names were denied to Black Skies; if they had one before the transformation it was carefully erased, if not, they were not given one.  To have been given, freely, with no trickery required, not just the name of Murdock, rich with the history of his father, but a choice of two more names… Thomas Yukio Murdock felt very lucky indeed.  

His cousin Natasha Alianova Romanova also knew how important names were, they’d discussed it before she went out with the rest of the family’s hunters to chase Oni in the night.  Her mother and father had ensured that she kept her own name, even as her handlers destroyed and replaced and stole the name of her father from him. The Black Sky memories had reached out to comfort someone like them, but not them.  A sister of circumstance, a cousin of condition.

It was interesting, to the Black Sky in him, that this family seemed to have so much weakness, yet be stronger overall than any opponent.

“Otosan… tell me a story?”

“Yeah, of course,” Matthew Murdock said, a smile for his son washing back the weariness.  “What story would you like?”

“Uncle Foggy and avocados!”

“Oh dear Lord, why would you want that one?” Matthew mumbled.  “Okay, kiddo. So it started when I met your Uncle Foggy. I was looking for my room at college….”

<^>

Fisk finished his speech soon, thankfully.  Trip wasn’t sure he could take it if this guy talked more than he had to.  Fortunately, his job was security, so looking at anything but Fisk wasn’t exactly a problem.  Unfortunately, when he did, he saw an unvetted waiter circulating with champagne.

“Skye,” he said into his com.  “We have a gate crasher passing drinks.”

“I’m on it,” she replied, cutting through the crowd.  She was better at this that he was, easily evading civilians as she hunted.  Trip smiled and started clean-up.

“Ma’am,” he said, taking a step towards a rich white lady who blinked up at him with wide eyes.  “I’m going to need to take that drink.”

“What?  Why? What’s going on?”

Trip shot her a charming smile as he dipped a sheet of tox-test paper in her glass.  Pink. “Cyanide. Sorry, Ma’am, this is evidence.”

The woman stood, screamed, and fainted, leaving Trip to drop the glass and try to catch her, or keep the cyanide-laced drink upright and look like a total tool.  He chose the former, obviously, but it hurt that he had to lose time tracking the other glasses. He swore under his breath as she came to, struggling away from him.  He was really about to lose it when he heard Skye tackle the fake waiter and turned to see Matt, in his black shirt and pants with a band of red microfiber from the blanket tied about his eyes slapping drinks out of two guest’s hands.

“EVERYONE STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” Trip bellowed.  “This is now a SHIELD investigation!”

“Matt, run,” Skye whispered into the comms.  Matt broke for it, but as he left, Vanessa Mariana, standing well away from where he’d been, collapsed.

Trip lifted his wrist in the classic ‘speaking on comms’ pose people trusted even if it wasn’t necessary.  “We have a medical emergency at the Van Lundt Building. I want Doctor Simmons onsite five minutes ago, and Doctor Fitz here with his kit, ASAP.”

“I’ll secure the perimeter, Trip!” Skye shouted, clearly for the benefit of the witnesses as she sprinted away after her brother.

“What exactly is going on here?” demanded Owlsley, blinking like the bird he was nicknamed for.  He pushed past terrified guests to grab Trip’s arm as the doors flew open and Jemma came flying through with a gurney.  “What madness is this?”

“Sir, I need you to stand back and let Doctor Simmons do her job.”

“That girl’s no doctor, I’ve got grandkids her age!”

Trip sighed.  This wasn't going to work.  Instead he turned to Fisk, the kingpin of crime looking broken and lost.  He could almost feel pity… until he remembered Jemma looking the same way as he pulled her and Fitz from the wreck of a Bratva hideout.  “Mr. Fisk, do you want the best doctor on this continent looking after Miss Mariana?”

“Of course?”

“Then take a step back and let that doctor do her job.  I trust Doctor Simmons with my life, I trust her with my partner’s lives.  Most importantly, I trust her with Miss Mariana’s life.”

Fisk looked up sharply, and Trip could see the jealousy swirling behind blank, shark-like eyes.

“We both know what happens to her security detail if she dies, right?” Trip said, voice barely a whisper.  Fisk nodded and let his slimy assistant help him towards the parking garage while Jemma loaded her patient onto the gurney and the agents she’d brought with her started interviewing witnesses.  Trip slipped the medevac van keys free from Fitz’ pocket and flipped them, using the clink to get Jemma’s attention. “Where to, Doc?”

“The nearest emergency room, I need to get her on hydroxocobalamin immediately.  Fortunately, that’s a common enough drug. Seriously, though… why does it always have to be cyanide?  Some people!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Otosan: Dad (Japanese)  
> Watashi wa yori yoku shiyou to shimasu: I will try to be better (Japanese)  
> Oni: demons in Japanese folklore, Thomas' name for bad guys.
> 
> Notes:  
> Not all nursing homes or assisted living facilities are created equal. Some are fantastic, wonderful places that do a really good job of being a place for people who need a little or a lot of help. Some are abusive nightmare pits from the tradition of Bethlehem Hospital, aka Bedlam. There's ways of telling which is which by looking at their promo material (is it geared towards the prospective resident, or towards their adult children? What features do they hype?) but a solid method is to either call others who have toured it, or tour it yourself. Karen's history with them is having been raised by a grandmother she adored and finding her a good care facility, hence being able to shortcut where Ben had to make calls. (The brochure has red flags she already knew from her tours elsewhere.)
> 
> Karen isn't at this point upset Ben wants out, she's mainly upset he's refusing to take protection while he goes. She knows he won't keep the phone if he feels he's not earning it by investigating, so she fixes the problem causing him to want out, as a shortcut. Her methods are very "fixer" based, which sets Ben's back up, as he prefers the "empathize" method of problem solving. Usually men tend towards "fixer" thinking and women tend towards "empathize" tools, but that's honestly mostly socialization. It's also a problem that Karen has "hint culture" as a background and Ben has "ask culture" so she sees his statement of problem as a request, and he sees her actions as intrusive. Neither is exactly wrong, but the friction there is a source of character tension.
> 
> Moral rest and recovery is important if you've got a job that requires the pushing of your moral boundaries. For example, Bucky, Clint, and Nat have all had to assassinate people and that's on the edge of what they can take before moral injury (Bucky and Nat actually have moral injury due to killing the Wrong People, but even killing the Right People stretches that.) To fix that, Darcy has them all work on charity things, helping wipe out some of the red in the ledgers.
> 
> My headcanon for Black Sky is that there's one Black Sky. Period. It's had many hosts, each imparting some memories and skills, but each time the host dies and Black Sky is brought back in a new body, it has to learn some basics again. That's part of how Thomas' speaking skills are right now, he's got millennia of experience with language but still figuring out how to physically make words in the right ways. He's got the most memory of Japanese and English due to the most recent host's history. Black Sky also isn't automatically evil, but the uses for it in the past have given it a certain rep (and assumtions in it's own mind) and it's now learning things like "love" and "family" that help prevent evil action.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Chloroform meant they needed her alive for the moment, and from there, she could work with what she had.  
> She had done it before, after all.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends, new friends, and danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Shadows_of_Shemai, ClockWeasel, hhhellcat, Selene_Aduial, SionnachOiche3, and the 2 new kudo-ers.

The apartment he’d once considered spacious was starting to feel cramped, Matt thought to himself as the team working the Fisk case settled in around his living room.  Of course, he wouldn’t have it any other way, if it meant giving up the family around him.

“Okay, so where are we at?” Karen asked the room as she handed him a cool bottle lightly fizzing with apple scent.  He nodded his thanks as he sipped the cider, letting others speak first.

“Fisk’s neutralized for a few days,” Bucky said bluntly.  Natasha slapped his arm. “What? It’s true!”

“Yes, but that sounded very incriminating!” the assassin warned.  “We didn’t actually have anything to do with that whole mess. I’ve got people passing on my questions as to who did, but for now, we have to assume Fisk has enemies we don’t know about.”

“In addition to his entire empire wavering like a drunk on Saint Paddy’s Day,” Darcy drawled.  “Seriously, it’s kinda pathetic. Even his lieutenants are wasting time and dithering. What kind of kingpin doesn’t hire competent help?”

“Stupid question,” Foggy began slowly, “but do we actually have to do anything?  It seems like Fisk is going to wrap that up for us.”

“You kids,” Ben laughed.  “No mob organization is as neat as you think it is.  They survive just fine, especially with the kind of financial, political, and social backing Fisk’s got.  You notice how people reacted to the press conference? If your random Ricky Rich pulled that, he’d be laughed off the courthouse steps.  Someone was leaning hard on the slant from most of the news outlets. The only two who had any questions were the Bulletin because I've still got a job, and God help us, the  _ Bugle. _ ”

Matt felt the air go still as everyone tried to figure out that last part.  Ben’s sigh sounded louder than anything.

“J. Jonah Jameson is a complete lunatic mentally stuck in the fifties, who’s never right about anything when it comes to the spectrum of people who try to help the city.  He’s far-right-wing, pro-industrialist, anti-union, and just an overall unpleasant person to be stuck next to at the Mayor’s Correspondents Dinner.  And for the first time in history… he’s doing a better job of being a newspaper editor than Ellison.”

“Ouch,” Darcy said, her knuckles popping as she shifted her grip on her drink.  The room was starting to smell like stress and fear, so Matt decided to change the subject.

“Karen, what did you turn up?”

“Fisk may have killed his father in self defense as a child,” she admitted.  “His mother told us.”

“I thought she was dead?” Darcy asked.

“She got better,” Karen deadpanned.  “She also wasn’t great at giving us details, but honestly, from how she reacted to her memories, I don’t entirely blame Fisk the Younger.  She looked panicked just talking about her husband. That sort of thing, the abuse, I mean, it doesn’t stay with you like that unless it’s bad.  I think… I think we have to respect that as a dead end.”

“Fair,” Matt said, nodding.  He certainly couldn’t throw stones on the vigilante front.  “Where next?”

“I’ve got some leads on the Hand side of the operation,” Bucky said.  “Nobu didn’t like giving them up, and I managed to end up fighting my way back out…”

“What!” Skye yelped.

“Hey, it’s okay, I was still mostly fresh and the metal arm makes for a great parrying weapon.  It wasn’t even guns, just knives. Partly because Fisk wears some really great menswear armor….”

“Where do you think he got that?” Foggy asked, shifting on the sofa in an interested fashion.  “Matt needs better armor, and I know he’s not going to accept it from you guys. No offence.”

“None taken, it’d be a bad idea to connect us on both sides of the nightlife,” Darcy said, waving a hand.  “But we’ve been interrupting Bucky.”

“I was just going to say I think Nat, Clint, and I can handle that lead.  It’s heroin dealing, which Talia has shown a skill set at ending, and Clint and I have a running bet about parkour we can settle at the same time.”

Darcy laughed, and the meeting went from there, assigning people and setting up times to check in.

<^>

Melvin slowed as he walked  through the hall to his workshop.  There were people talking up by his door.  People shouldn’t be by his door. People only stood by doors they wanted to open, to go through.  Nobody was supposed to go through the door to his workshop without Mr. Fisk. Melvin was scared of Mr. Fisk, he was a dangerous man.

“So where’d you find this guy?” a man asked.

“I got it from Cathrine, who got it from Nika, who got it from one of her girls, who’s been dating a guy called Turk,” replied the woman.  There was a pause, and Melvin stopped, hesitant to let his footsteps give him away in the quiet. “What?” she demanded. “Bratva women all train as spies.  Outside of Vegas, it’s their only job in the organization.”

“Your nieces are excessively terrifying, yes,” the man replied, “but the side-eye was over any of the Kikimora dating  _ Turk Barrett.  _  They can do better.”

“I think so too, but Nika can handle that.  We didn’t actually adopt the entire Russian Mob, just select individuals.”

Melvin set down his bag and wiped his hands on his pants.  If the Russians were here, Mr. Fisk wasn’t. If Mr. Fisk wasn’t here, then Melvin was in big trouble.  _  Betsy _ was in big trouble.

As he was about to turn and run, to try to get Betsy to leave the city, a man in black slid out of the shadows.  “Do you work for Fisk?”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Melvin told him.  He didn’t want to fight, but he would if he had to. To protect Betsy.  “Mr. Fisk said nobody was supposed to be here.”

The man growled, but a woman stepped around Melvin and put her hand on his arm.  Melvin could see her fingers squeeze around the black fabric. He knew that pattern, Betsy used that too.  If the woman was like Betsy, maybe he could make them leave before he got in trouble.

“Please go,” he said, using the nice words like Betsy taught him.  “I don’t want to get in trouble. You go, and don’t come back, and we can all be not in trouble.”

The woman turned and blinked.  She was pretty, wide eyes and fluffy hair.  Not as pretty as Betsy, but Betsy was the best, so that was right.  “What kind of trouble do you think you’ll be in?”

He didn’t want to answer.  Nice pretty ladies like Betsy shouldn’t be dragged into things like what he did for Mr. Fisk.  He looked nervously at the walls. Walls were easier than people to look at. “Go, I don’t want to have to fight you.”

“Don’t threaten her,” growled the man as he stepped forward, and Melvin took a step back.  The woman sighed and moved around in front again. Melvin noticed she was looking over his left ear by a foot.

“He’s not threatening me, are you Melvin?  He’s being honest. He doesn’t want to fight me, or you.  He doesn’t want to be in trouble.”

Melvin nodded rapidly.  “I don’t want trouble. I don’t want Mr. Fisk to be mad.”

“Because when he’s angry, he hurts people,” she said sadly.  “You don’t like being hurt.”

Melvin considered lying.  It might get them to leave.  It also would feel wrong. He tried to imagine what Betsy might say.  She would tell him to do what felt right. He had good empathy, she would say.  Trust your gut. Then he would say his gut wanted Yoohoo, and they would laugh. They hadn’t laughed in far too long.  It was too hard to be funny when you were scared.

“Not me,” he said, pushing the words out before they could tangle up behind his teeth.  “Betsy. He said he’d hurt Betsy.”

“Who’s Betsy?” the man asked, and suddenly, he didn’t look scary.  He looked worried. Of course he’d worry, he had his own Betsy.

“She’s nice, she helps me when… when I get confused.”  Melvin felt the tears coming down, and wiped his face with his sleeve.  “You know, like she does, for you.”

“Skye?” the man asked, looking to his Betsy, the woman named Skye.

“I think what’s important out of this is that she might be in danger.”  She was good at figuring out important things, like Betsy. “Let’s sit down and talk.  Is Fisk making you work for him by threatening Betsy?”

Melvin nodded sadly and wrang his hands.  “Yes. When he asked, at first I said no. Betsy wouldn’t like it.  She wants me to be good. I gotta be good.”

“Hey,” said Skye.  “You don’t have to do that.”

Melvin looked at her.  She twisted her own hands once, then patted the floor where she’d folded herself into a seat against the wall.  “We don’t care if your hands are loud or quiet. We just want to make sure you’re okay. Do you need something to do with them?”

“I make things,” Melvin said quietly.  “I’m good at making things. Not making things gets everything all….”

“I get it,” Skye said.  She looked back at the man, who was awkwardly trying to sit down too.  He moved stiff, like he’d been hurt. “Remember Bailey? This is similar.”

The man went very still, then pulled out some paper, receipts.  “Do you know origami?”

Melvin shook his head.

“Watch my hands, then.”  The man folded his receipt slowly, and Melvin say how he turned it into a flat circle with a single twist.  A mobius strip. Melvin paused, then took a receipt and tried to copy the pattern from memory. He had tried twice and was a lot calmer when the man spoke again.  “You know, we’ve had people we care about hurt by Fisk too. We get it, what it’s like to worry about them. To need to keep them safe.”

“Is Mr. Fisk making you work for him too?”

“No.  We want to stop him.  So he can’t hurt anyone else.”  The man unfolded his mobius and tried something different.  “No more lost orphan kids, getting taken in the night, sitting in shipping containers in the cold.  No more women screaming, being pulled away from homes and sent to do… No more of Fisk hurting everyone around him and thinking he’s saving this city.”

“You can do that?” Melvin asked, looking between them.  The man seemed sure, the woman, Skye, not so much.

“We can try, but it’s going to be a lot easier if we get you something that can keep your insides inside you, where they’re supposed to be,” she said to the man.

“You want a suit, like I made for Mr. Fisk?” Melvin offered.  He’d rather make suits for nice people who wanted to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves.  “I can make you a suit, and you keep Mr. Fisk from hurting Betsy? All the Betsys?”

“Not a suit,” the man said, his grin splitting thin and wide and sharp like a good pair of shears.  “A symbol. Something special, to scare the evil men who think they won’t be punished for their sins.”

Melvin looked at the man’s hands as he passed his Betsy a folded diamond-shaped dagger of paper, like what one of Mr. Nobu’s men carried in a harness under the suit Mr. Fisk had Melvin make.  She smiled and held it in two fingers, twisting it to catch light on its sharp edges.

“They already call you the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” she said, smiling.  The smile was less like Betsy and more like the man with the diamond daggers.  “And nothing drives wicked men to church faster than the Devil nipping at their heels.”

Melvin thought about that.  It would be harder, given that everyone thought different about the fuzzy, non physical things like fear.  It wasn’t like he could study a pattern and do it that way. It would have to be new. He’d have to sketch out his ideas.  He hadn’t sketched ideas in so long, he might have lost the skill. But harder didn’t mean not worth it. And keeping the Betsys of the world safe was worth any amount of hard to do.

“A symbol?”  He smiled, and he suspected it was also a sharp, scary smile.  They didn’t seem to mind. “I can do that.”

<^>

Karen finished her check-in with Ben, and pulled her keys from her purse as she walked to her apartment complex’s locked front door.  She’d chosen it for the double layer of security as much as for the quiet area with neighbors who didn’t ask many questions about her past.  Of course, as the lights flickered, she started to wonder if that was a good idea.

She hunched her shoulders protectively and tried to still the shaking enough to get the key in the lock, but a strong arm came up around her and a cloth was pressed to her face.  Karen bit down on the impulse to breathe in... and the attacker’s thumb. He yelped, but the sickly sweetness of chloroform stayed pressed to her face, and she felt her muscles loosening as it worked though the lining of her mouth.  Her mind chose that moment to share that chloroform was fatal to consume at more than 10 milliliters. Wildly, she slammed a foot down on her attacker’s foot, and slammed her head back into his nose. The rag stayed pressed against her nose and mouth, and Karen lost the fight to inhale.  The scent always had reminded her of the darker sorts of fairy tales, of candy houses and warnings. Her head swam, and someone pulled her hands down and back, clipping padded rings of metal around her wrists, despite her struggles. It got harder and harder to focus, and as she was dragged into a van, she let her eyes flutter shut.  She would survive this. Chloroform meant they needed her alive for the moment, and from there, she could work with what she had.

She had done it before, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Yoohoo: a chocolate milk type beverage popular in the South Eastern states of the USA, shown to be what Melvin Potter drinks.
> 
> Notes:  
> Saint Paddy's Day is slang for Saint Patrick's Day, a traditional Irish holiday. New York boasts a sizable Irish-American population, and as such has large celebrations each year. (As a side note, so does Kansas City, Missouri, where I'm from and chose to have Darcy be from to limit my research load.) However, modern American celebrations tend to focus on the copious consumption of green-tinted alcohols and are frequently host to very drunk people.
> 
> For the record, Ben's opinions of J. Jonah Jameson and his politics are his own, as formed as a Black investigative reporter in the 70's. Ben's canon investigations lead me to think that he's liberal-leaning and pro-union/anti-industrialist, and Triple J has always been painted as a staunchly conservative guy. I personally am not bashing either side, I'm just letting natural rivalry and political differences drive dialogue.
> 
> Karen isn't feeling as isolated or hopeless as she was at this point in canon, so she's not going at the patricide angle as hard as she was in the series. With room to feel safe, she understands that Bill Fisk was a legitimate target and self-defense was reasonable in that case.
> 
> Melvin Potter is a canon neuro-divergent character. His issues aren't clearly identified, the bad guys use terms that imply he's got a learning and/or IQ issue, but his skills imply it's probably more of a process/communication issue, i.e. the smarts are in there, but they get garbled coming out in words. His caregiver Betsy helps him cope with the world, but this means he's uniquely vulnerable to threats against her, since she's his only chance to function at the moment.
> 
> Catherine is Katenka, a Red Room Girl. Nika is also a Red Room Girl, and a lieutenant in the Russian Mob's Las Vegas branch. Her direct underlings are a group of women called the Kikimora who dish out some vigilante justice and chase other organized crime (mostly new groups and drug cartels) off their turf. Turk Barrett is a criminal in-between and salesman who isn't the most reliable date in the world (Jessica Jones was once hired to get his unpaid child support.)
> 
> "Quiet Hands" is an element of Applied Behavior Analysis, or ABA. ABA is an incredibly damaging and risky form of compliance training, essentially attempting to train a neurovarient child to act like a neurotypical child using removal of coping tools, refusal to allow avoidance of something found painful (or forcing them to do something they find painful, like touch glue), and limiting access to affection until compliance is given. One of the things ABA goes after is hand flapping to emotionally regulate or express, and adult survivors of childhood ABA tend to wring their hands as a substitute, sometimes to the point of damaging themselves. The "Loud Hands" movement came from adult survivors fighting back against that sort of thing.
> 
> Kids don't tend to end up in the system if everything in their lives is 100% awesome. Sometimes that means they don't have living family (like Matt), their family was unfit (like Skye), or they don't fit the mold their family wanted and are considered "problem children". Bailey is the OC who fits that third category, a strongly hyperactive kid with neurovarience who needed to fidget constantly. He was a year younger than Skye, already younger than Matt, so Skye remembers him better.
> 
> Chloroform is a wack ass drug to knock someone out with, it's volatile, caustic, takes up to 5 minutes to produce unconsciousness, can be potentially fatal, and won't work after it's been exposed to the air too long. It is, however, the drug that goes on a cloth over the face in all the TV shows and movies, and so I kept it, but for the record, it's a terrible choice for a kidnapping.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "Look, if you’re going to kill me, just do it. I’m sick of listening to your repressed homoerotic monologues.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kidnapping does not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Snowecat, Crystallea1321, Shadows_of_Shemai, Selene_Aduial, and the 2 newest kudo-ers.

Karen woke up in a bare concrete room.  She was seated in a metal chair, she noted, and laying face-down on a cheap formica-top table.  She let her eyes focus before trying to sit up.

“Oh, good.  You’re awake,” said the slimy shark of a man from earlier in this whole fiasco.  James Wesley. “I thought you might not come out of it. That would be a shame.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a risk you take when you use volatile chemicals to drug people during kidnappings,” Karen snapped.  Her head swam and the creep helped her sit, brushing her hair with his hands. Karen calculated the volume of hot water in her apartment’s water heater and the length of time it would take her to drain it in a shower.  Not long enough to feel clean again, she decided. “You shouldn’t have done this,” she growled.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, sitting with ridiculous poise.  “You know, it’s funny. After the whole Union Allied debacle, I inquired as to if you’d need further attention.  The belief was you’d already done what damage you could, so it didn’t matter.”

“I was a nobody,” she said, grasping his train of thought.  “A tiny cog in your evil machine. You tried to shut me up with money, but that didn’t work.”

“You were supposed to go  _ away _ , Miss Page,” he agreed.  “To fade back to wherever people like you fade.  But instead, you made a choice, and that choice has brought you here.”

“Actually, a panel van with bad shocks on the drivers side brought me here,” Karen told him, reveling in the moment’s disruption to his calm.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, regaining his composure.  “And perhaps it was always going to end like this. Perhaps we’re destined to play out our parts, follow a path none of us can see, only vaguely sense as it takes our hand, guiding us towards the inevitable.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she asked, counting the seconds between ripples of light on the windows behind him.  Even. A lighthouse, maybe. She could smell the brackish water of the East River, but then again, most of New York’s harbors and waterways smelled the same.

“No, but this is,” he said as he drew a gun.  She looked it over. A reasonable sidearm for defensive purposes, not particularly flashy, but as she wasn’t wearing Kevlar, it should do the job.  The safety was on, and he had good trigger discipline, she noted as he placed it on the table.

“Alright, I’m listening,” she said, and smothered an internal smile as he flinched.  Apparently he wasn’t fond of people deviating from his script,

“Do you love this city?”

“Do you?”

“I’ll be perfectly honest, the situation calls for it,” he admitted with a sigh.  “I do not love this city. The crush of the unwashed garbage stacked on the sidewalk, the air that seems to adhere to your skin, a layer of filth you can never completely wash away.”

“Sounds like maybe you should move,” Karen told him.

“I’m not here because I want to be,” he said, a strange gentleness crossing his features.  “I’m here because I’m needed.”

“By Fisk?”  She didn’t actually care about his answer, but it kept him talking.  She could hear the unmistakable sound of large planes much too close to the ground.  They were by an airport. A large one, JFK or Laguardia. She’d hope for JFK, it was farthest from her apartment, more time to be discovered missing.

“My _employer_ , sorry, old habits.  Mr. Fisk, as you say.  _ He _ loves this city,” Wesley said, eyes lighting with emotion for the first time since she’d made his regrettable acquaintance.  “In a way you and I never could. I don’t expect you to understand that. There are moments when even I struggle to, but he does.  Very deeply.”

“Is there going to be a point to this discussion?” Karen interrupted.  She had gotten the feeling back in her fingers and toes, and that gun looked very tempting, sitting on the table.  But she wanted to be polite, let the man confess what he needed to before she shot him and called for backup. She wondered, briefly, when she’d gotten so dark.  When she’d started thinking in terms of when and how to kill, not even questioning if she could. It was either during her captivity with Hydra, or it was sometime after, when she’d gone to gun ranges across state lines during off hours, saving up vacation days to take safety and storage lessons.  One trigger pull, real or metaphorical, had somehow changed her, and she distantly wanted to know which one it was.

“Wilson Fisk loves this city,” Wesley repeated.  “Almost as much as he loves his mother.”

Karen stared at him.  She wasn’t going to feed his fanaticism.

“Frankly, I’m surprised she even remembered you,” he confessed.  “Recent memories for her are like fleeting gossamer, often plucked from grasp by the slightest breeze.  But you? You left an  _ impression _ .  The nice blonde lady with the big blue eyes.  And the man you were with. Mr. Urich, I’m guessing?  Mr. Fisk, as I’ve said, loves his mother. He would be extremely… disturbed, if he knew you’d found her.  Even more so if he knew you’d been to see her.”

“So you haven’t told him,” Karen concluded.

“He’s preoccupied with more important matters,” Wesley bit out.  “So I’ve taken it upon myself to address the situation.”

“If it helps any, I’d already decided not to share what I found,” Karen told him.  “For one, he was a child when that happened, and for another, if I’d been there, I probably would have killed his father too.”

Wesley blinked.  Karen took a breath and tried to measure his reactions.  He supported Fisk, seemed emotional about him, in ways he wasn’t about anything else.  Skye’s report had said true believer, a fanatic drawn to a cause. Karen wasn’t sure.

“She did tell you what she told me, didn’t she?” Karen asked.  “I mean, for all I disagree with Fisk on how he’s acting  _ now, _ that utter deadbeat deserved everything Fisk did  _ then _ and more.  Clearly, it was a case of self defence, and probably traumatic.”

Wesley’s face got tight.  She could tell this was new information.

“Probably explains some of his rages as an adult, though,” she added, twisting her knife a bit farther.  “his difficulty to form attachments, too. I can’t imagine he’s ever going to be completely comfortable around any masculine figure-”

“Shut. Up.”

“I didn’t mean you,” Karen said, and shot him an appraising look. “ _ Obviously _ .  Look, if you’re going to kill me, just do it.  I’m sick of listening to your repressed homoerotic monologues.”

Wesley laughed.  “They’re not repressed, Miss Page, and I’m not here to kill you, I’m here to offer you a job.”

“As what?  Your secretary?”  She looked away dismissively, tracking a new light along the edge of the ceiling, reflected from the other side of the building.

“No, the position I had in mind is a little more involved.  You’ve proven yourself resourceful, tenacious, with a commendable ability to convince others that your way is the right one.”

“Can you speed this up and get to details?” Karen asked, her voice impatient.  “Like dental. Does the job offer dental insurance?”

Wesley laughed coldly.  “Simply put, Miss Page, you are going to convince Mr. Urich that everything is fine.  That you were wrong, that Wilson Fisk is a good man, a man this city needs. And then, you’re going to spread the gospel to everyone you’ve infected with your negative point of view.”

Karen tilted her head, as though listening to a far-off voice.  “I think I’d rather die first.”

“But you won’t.  You won’t be the first to die.  I think Mr. Urich will have that honor.  Then we’ll go to your place of employment, see to Mr. Nelson, Mr. Murdock, and after that your friends, your family, everyone you’ve ever cared about.  And then, when you have no tears left to shed, then... then we’ll come for you Miss Page.”

“What I’m hearing is, you won’t live to get around to me,” Karen said quietly as his phone rang and she snatched the gun.  He froze, allowing the rings to echo.

“Do you really think I’d put a loaded gun where you could reach it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “But you do. So what matters is... do you really think this is the first time I’ve shot someone?”

He stood.

Her eyes flicked wildly to all corners, to shadows growing long and looming.

“Miss Page,” he said, reprimanding her like an unruly child.

She fired a neat cluster of three bullets into his center mass.

He fell.

<^>

Matt had barely crossed the threshold of the warehouse when the shots rang past his ears.  He froze, waiting for the disorienting wave of sounds to pass like the tides. When he felt steady, he moved in, following Karen’s heartbeat, high paced and nervous.

“Karen?”

She fell into his arms, a solid warmth heaving in little sobs.

“I’m sorry it took so long.  When you didn’t answer your phone, Foggy called Skye, and then she had to track the security camera footage.  Then we had to find a car, since this place is out in the freaking boonies.”

“It’s  _ Newark, _ ” Skye said firmly from the door, “not Atlantis.  I assume the bleeding guy is dead? And that there are no non-bleeding guys waiting to ambush us?”

“It’s just us,” he told his sister.  “And I am in  _ Jersey, _ this  _ is _ the boonies.”

Karen started to laugh, and he wrapped a hand around her wrist, feeling the subtle butterfly wings of her pulse even into a healthy thrum.  “Only in New York,” she said, her voice bright with laughter under the wet remnants of tears. Like an auditory rainbow, Matt thought. “Can we go home now?”

“Of course,” he told her, and wrapped her in the blanket his sister handed him.  “I want you to stay with us tonight, your building is clearly a target.”

“Yeah,” Karen agreed, snuggling up into the arm he draped around her shoulder.  He’d been aiming to get the blanket settled, but he liked this feeling, so he didn’t pull away as she gripped the fabric.  “And someone needs to go guard Ben and Doris, that creep was threatening them.”

“Hence the bullet holes?” Skye asked, opening the doors for them with a low creak that echoed softly.

Karen made a wordless sound of agreement, and pushed her shoulder more firmly into Matt’s armpit.  He let himself indulge in the scent of her hair, soft and sweet and overlaid with the new scents of cordite and blood.  Almond oil and gunshot residue smelled surprisingly nice together.

“Would you like some hot chocolate when we get home?” he asked.

“Yes please.”

<^>

Foggy nervously checked his breath against his hand and stepped into Josie’s, where Marci Stahl stuck out like a pair of her favorite impractical stiletto heels among the pile of work shoes that collected inside the back door of his parent’s house.  He knew, because he’d seen it, the one and only time Marci had let him talk her into going to the Nelson Holiday Madness.

“Sorry I’m late, couldn’t find a cab,” he said stiffly, sitting down.

“Did you know that buffalo at the bar wouldn’t make me a vodka martini,” Marci complained, sidestepping the issue of his lateness.  It was her way of saying it didn’t matter. “I had to settle for just vodka.”

“Probably because you call her a buffalo,” Foggy commented.  “But if you want a martini, I can get you a martini.”

“What I want is to not spend one more second in this petri dish than I have to,” Marci cut him off, and Foggy sat back down.  “Why are we meeting here?”

“I need your help.”

“My help?”  Marci looked truly shocked.  “Sad, I thought this was a booty call.”

“Very funny, Marce,” Foggy grit out.  “My tenement case? The one I talked to you about before?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Cardenas,” Marci said, waving for him to continue as she sipped what was probably not actually vodka.  “I heard what happened.”

“Thank you for not saying ‘carnitas’ again,” Foggy sighed.  “It’s been a long week and I’m not coping well.”

“I’ll say,” Marci said with an eye roll.  “It’s Monday.”

“It’s a big case.”

“It’s one crappy tenament.”

“It’s dozens, maybe hundreds.  All bought with dark money, sourced from drug sales, sex trafficking, gun running, you name it.  Key places being carefully targeted, the owner of record doesn’t change over until most of the resistance has been broken.  It keeps his hands clean while he systematically destroys Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Who?”  Marci looked sharply at him.  “Who’s targeting these places?”

“Wilson Fisk.”

“I’m leaving,” Marci snapped, standing up.  “We represent Fisk, I can’t talk to you about it.”

“Then don’t talk,” Foggy begged.  “Just sit, you don’t have to say anything.  I brought a file. If you read it, you’ll know what I’m worried about.”

Marci read.

“Where did you get all this?”  She looked scared. That was good.  Scared was a sane reaction.

“Some of it, Matt and I turned up working Elena’s case.”

“And the rest?”  Marci seemed ready to bolt, and he knew his answer would scare her more, but honesty would be safest for both of them.

“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“You’re working with that prick that blew up half the city!”  Oh. No. Now Marci was angry. He could hear the carefully smoothed edge slipping off her voice, a faint ghost of Long Island rising from the grave countless hours of vocal training had put it in.

“If you’ve read that, you know that for one, he didn’t do that, there’s too much evidence he was a victim that night too, and also, every spot that blew up was tied to Russian crime organizations working to distribute the new breed of Chinese heroin, a type conveniently used to bribe Junkie Jake into stabbing Mrs. Cardenas outside her home.  Who benefits from that? Not the Russians, not the Chinese, and not the Devil, because that goes and cuts a trail dead cold. Fisk, on the other hand….”

“My client has been all over TV trying to help this city.”

Foggy looked at her.  “When a man keeps Jesus on his front porch, you know he’s got demons in his backyard.”

“No fair using that line,” Marci ground out, the polished Upper East Side sliding right off her voice and her own voice fading through.

“Alright, alright,” Foggy held up his hands.  “I went too far. But seriously Marce, there’s nothing strange happening at Landman and Zach?  Nothing that’s felt weird about how Fisk handles his business? Nothing happen way too fast, or just straight up vanish?”

Marci’s face stilled, the cold, dangerous look that he knew, from personal experience, was her drawing the lines between dots.  It was what he’d fallen in love with her for, that razor sharp mind, her way with facts, stacking them like blocks in a Jenga tower until she had the truth. Or a truth she could work with.  He’d broken up with her over the creative interpretations she’d had over the years.

“I could lose my job,” she said slowly.  “I could get disbarred.”

“You remember what I said before?  About how you used to have a soul?”  She flinched, but Foggy kept going. “That wasn’t just a barb, Marci.  I remember how you used to care, how much you loved the truth, how much the law meant to you, before the shoes and the expense account and scrambling to make partner.”

“You’re asking me to commit career suicide.”

“I’m asking you to trust me,” Foggy corrected.  “Look, I can’t say much, but I know the people working on this, and… the credentials are impressive.  Sooner rather than later, Fisk and Owlsley are going to be caught red handed, and all this will come out.  When that happens, everyone connected to them is going to have to answer some hard questions about what they knew and when they knew it.”

“We have attorney-client privilege…”

“I do solemnly swear,” Foggy began, closing his eyes as her recited, “that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the State of New York, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of….”

“Okay, okay!” Marci snapped.  “You’re a real bastard.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Foggy cheered.  “I’m going to go get a glass of the house special.  If you were joking about the booty call earlier, I’d advise leaving before either of us gets the Eel in them.”

“The Eel?”

“Bad choices and something slimy suspended in a mix guaranteed to power wash and sandblast your higher brain functions.  My friend Karen constantly argues with herself about its chemical composition when she gets drunk. The nerd.”

Marci looked at her not-actually-vodka, then up at Foggy.  Her lashes fluttered. “Two glasses?”

Bad choice, but that’s what the Eel was for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No translations this time.
> 
> Notes:  
> Most of Wesley's lines are taken from the show, because I couldn't do creepily sociopathic dialogue better than they did.
> 
> Karen's strategy to keep Wesley monologue-ing is a good one. Since she can't fight back physically yet due to the effects of the drugging, and she knows help is on it's way, all she has to and can do is keep the interaction nonphysical and memorize clues about where she is in case she gets a chance to call for help. Of course, Wesley wouldn't believe her if she went to sweetness and light, so she's being blunt and sarcastic to avoid suspicion.
> 
> Wesley's interactions with Fisk in canon don't appear to me to be strictly employer-employee emotionally. I headcanon Wesley as an ace homoromantic who enters a queerplatonic relationship with Fisk, who himself has some homoromantic leanings but way too much internalized homophobia and toxic masculinity to openly accept his desire for men. In their perfect world, Vanessa was going to join their partnership and they'd be an evil version of the Darcy-Bucky-Steve triad.
> 
> Newark is in New Jersey, across state lines from New York, which makes it ideal for taking an NYC kidnapping victim since it gets feds involved and jurisdictional pissing matches slow down investigations. However, New York and New Jersey have a long-standing rivalry as well, meaning Matt is less than happy he's in Newark.
> 
> In this canon, Marci and Foggy have not hooked up, since Foggy didn't need to vent his anger at Matt. They have however had a few work-dates for back-channel (unofficial) discussion. So Marci is actually escalating with her hopes that Foggy called for sex.
> 
> My version of Marci is from a working class family in Long Island who worked her butt off to make it into law school and never looked back. She and Foggy dated originally due to having similar hopes and dreams and families, but Foggy's big fear was turning out like his birth mom, and Marci wanted to be exactly like her (a cut throat lawyer with loads of rich clients) hence the split.
> 
> The saying Foggy quotes is a common one in certain working class areas. I don't know if New York has it, but the midwest and southeast both do. It's a general saying for "be careful of people who try too hard to look perfect, they're hiding something." Marci is pissed because it's a saying her grandma used to use, particularly when she felt Marci lost touch with her roots.
> 
> Foggy quotes the oath of the Bar that all New York attorneys have to take. There's actually whole sections of the lawyer's code of conduct about what you have to do if you know your client is guilty and hiding evidence. Marci is basically legally obligated to do something now that she has the evidence Foggy handed her.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “Death and the Devil walk into a drug ring,” Matt said, smirking as he slid the Devil into the driver’s seat. “What could go wrong?”


	33. The Things We Leave Behind (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions and heroin rings and drug busts, oh my.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To ClockWeasel, Shadows_of_Shemai, Selene_Aduial, Crystallea1321, hhhellcat, and the five new kudo-ers.

Doris Urich was no idiot.  Generally speaking, idiots didn’t fight their way through higher education’s strong racism, get teaching degrees and accreditations, sign up to serve the least served in hopes one young mind a year might get the same fire lit in their soul, or marry men with just as much passion and instinct to go after the truth.  Although she was reconsidering the wisdom of that last choice as she sat in her bed at home, where she’d been moved, looking at the perky nurse sent to take care of her until that new charity Ben found could get her a proper placement in a decent long term facility.

“Miss, just who do you think you’re fooling?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” the girl lied as she set a cup of water on the rolling tray near Doris’ elbow.

“Girl, I didn’t work in the inner city my whole career not to know when someone’s packing.”  Doris rolled her eyes. “You tell me what you’re really doing in my home, Nurse Liar, or I’m calling my husband.”

The girl straightened with that brittle smile on her face that Doris knew too well from the mirror when some snob said something under her breath as they passed in the ladies room.  “It’s  _ Doctor  _ Liar, thank you, and Ben is very aware I’m not affiliated with the hospital.  None of us is going to be left alone until his current investigation is concluded, and the powers that be have decided that since you need medical care, and I’m practically useless in the field, we should be paired up.”

“My apologies, Doctor,” Doris corrected herself.  “Just who has my fool husband gotten himself mixed up with, and can you actually use that gun?”

“I’m one half of the team that invented it,” the doctor replied, pulling up her pink scrubs to reveal a clear plastic gun with soft blue balls in place of ammunition.  “And I’m with SHIELD.”

“The government spooks who got infiltrated by nazis?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Are you a nazi?”

“If I were, you’d be dead by now.”  She said it so flatly, Doris couldn’t believe it was a lie.  Also, it rang true. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit behind on my bedside manner.  I haven’t had a patient who wasn’t an agent in a very long time, and to be quite honest, I’m worried about Fitz.  He’s no better equipped to be alone in the field than I am, but the orders we’ve received mean splitting the team to guard all the moving pieces and we’re not supposed to call for backup.”

“Just sit, and tell me about him,” Doris said, patting the bed.  The young doctor declined that placement to pull up a chair, but she did talk.  Her young man had been glued to her side so long, she clearly didn’t know what to do without him.  The discussion made a few things clear, even if Doris was still sure she was talking around a large herd of elephants in a number of rooms.  For one, Ben had gotten his teeth into a story that could shake the foundations of New York. For another, the danger was all too real and people had already died because of it.  But it was the last thing she decided to speak up about.

“Have you considered the possibility you love both these men?”

“What?”

“You love both of them,” Doris repeated.  “You love your steady genius, and you love your dashing agent.  You love them different, sure, but not more than or less than. You want different things from them, but you want them both.”

“I… I don’t know what to say to that, honestly.”

“You sound like you’re trying to balance a checkbook, honey,” Doris told her.  “That’s no way to do love. You’re not saving up your love by not giving it to one so you can have enough for the other, you’re shading out two beautiful seedlings that just want to grow.  Love is like gardening, you’ve got to give each special love its space, its time with sun and water, and then you’ll get a fine selection of flowers.”

“I’m not sure that would work.  Darcy certainly makes it work with her men, but Fitz and Trip have nothing in common.  Except me, and Fitz is very competitive. That’s not going to lend itself to a good relationship there.”

“You can’t copy another woman’s garden,” Doris tutted.  “Mine is one fantastic tree and a ring of flowers, your friend may be growing hedges, but yours might be two trees and a hammock between them.  Heck, you may be an arborist. Just find a way to tell them, or you’ll botch the whole thing.”

Jemma sighed, and Doris chuckled her way into a cough, which her doctor helped her through.  As she settled in to sleep, she was hopeful for the future in a way she hadn’t been since she got sick.

<^>

“So what’s the hot tip you needed my help with on this?” Matt asked Bucky as the two settled in on a rooftop across from a warehouse.  The chemical stench was nauseating, but Matt hadn’t yet gotten to the point of using the menthol inhaler stick Skye had packed for him.  Scent was too important to risk if he could still work around the area’s own smells.

“We found this place by following blind kids with backpacks,” Bucky said tiredly.  “The intel Skye got off Ranskahov pointed to blind delivery people, so did the recovered footage of the bombings.  Jarvis ran an algorithm tracking blind people with backpacks, and a good two dozen of them got in cars that came here.”

“That’s hardly grounds for a search,” Matt pointed out.

“Only place with more was a school,” Bucky said firmly.  “And if I can smell the cooking heroin, you certainly can, so drop the innocent act.”

“I wasn’t saying don’t do it, I’m just saying that’s not necessarily a sound line of logic and we need to be careful about it, because you’re getting really close to a level of supervision of disabled people previously only used by madmen and fanatics.”

“That’s why I need your help,” Bucky admitted.  “I’m used to being able to use a set of skills that borders on evil, for good purposes.  It’s how I live with myself, repurposing all the Hydra shit for the good of people they hated.  Unfortunately, I’m now in the sticky situation of fighting people who won’t hesitate to use those same people as human shields and I’m not close enough to it.  You are, you have the insider perspective, so I need you to take point.”

“Okay, so what’s the entrance strategy?”

“Beat up the guards, use the knock pattern I got earlier, beat up the doorman.”

“And after that?”

“Up to you.”

Matt smiled, feeling the Devil in him stretch like a cat in sunlight.  “You aren’t wearing your Avenger’s coat,” he noted.

Bucky stroked the straps of the leather outfit. The echoes sketched a specific shape in Matt’s mind, one described to him by his sister when she was explaining the first time she’d met her other brother.  Hydra’s costume for their murderous dancing monkey. A recreation, obviously, he would have gained several pounds of muscle since then, if Skye fed him half as well as she did Matt, but not what he would ever wear while fighting beside his family.  Not even beside Darcy. Matt had overheard enough of his confessions to understand that, how knowing and doing were so very different from seeing. Matt didn’t think it was a casual mistake, or a comment on his own blindness, but he had to be sure. “I’m not an Avenger tonight.”

“What are you then?”

“Death,” Bucky said shortly.

“Death and the Devil walk into a drug ring,” Matt said, smirking as he slid the Devil into the driver’s seat.  “What could go wrong?”

“Don’t ask,” Bucky advised, and they leapt into action.

They took out the guards with guns first, silent and swift.  Matt signalled Bucky to stay in the shadows and drop more if they came, but he stepped out into the workfloor occupied by blind people, old and young, male and female, all packing up poison and preparing to deliver it.  Their focus was intense, even if he stood directly beside them, they paid no attention.

“Matt,” Bucky said from across the warehouse.  “They’ve been blinded with acid. I know those scars. This isn’t recruitment of the blind, it’s the manufacture of them.”

Matt felt the rage build as a woman shouted in a language he didn’t know and the people around him suddenly lost their interest in the drugs in favor of attacking him.  He tried to stop them, plead with them, but it was useless, so he ducked them, dropped to the floor and crawled out from the forest of legs to escape towards the sounds of leather and masked breath.  He stuck to the cool shadows, slipping from hidden corner to overhead perch to the gap between pallets of cans and bags containing God knew what. He stalked the sound of the woman’s cane, a rap-RAP that stood out from the tat-tat-tat of the canes of the blind.  He listened as Bucky winnowed her security down, near-silently dragged off into corners that baffled the sounds so well even Matt couldn’t tell if they survived meeting the self-titled Death.

Finally, he felt the remaining guard was worth the risk, and he stepped out to confront his opponent in this deadly game of hide and seek.

“Hi.  We need to talk.”

“You do not seem like a man who does much talking,” the woman said as her bodyguard stepped forward into Matt’s fists.  His reflexes felt like fire, a burn that pushed his body faster than it was really meant to go. The woman snorted. “The young will always make such mistakes.  The old will learn from them, if they wish to get older.”

Matt nodded.  He needed her talking.  His sister had given him several ways to record a conversation, including their brother crawling over the tops of crates right now.

“Those people… did you take their eyes?”

“No,” she said, and she wasn’t lying.  “They blinded themselves.”

“Why would they do that?” Matt asked, forcing down the rising bile in his gut.  This woman was everything he hated, and everything he feared. Unfortunately, the Devil wasn’t allowed those little human luxuries.

“They have faith,” she replied, and again, Matt couldn’t find a lie.  She was either sociopathic to a degree he’d never seen before, or she was running the sickest scam to ever exist.  Maybe both. He waited, circling her as she moved to sit. This was when she either told him what he needed, or she baited him for what he needed.  Either way, staying silent got him more.

They’d been frozen like that, a tableau in amber, statues made of cold anger and stony fear, for about five minutes when she spoke again.

“You are not what I expected,” she said.  When Matt didn’t rise to the bait, she settled back with a laugh.  “A worthy opponent, Devil, is worth more than a thousand unworthy friends.  Ask your questions, I will tell you the truth.”

“I believe you will,” Matt said, nodding.  “Why have you partnered with Fisk?”

“He was useful,” she admitted.  Her tone drew Matt’s attention to the past tense.  “But it was a partnership borne of convenience. For that matter, so were the drugs.  You have made both considerably less convenient.”

“We do not grow in convenience,” Matt said, echoing something Stick had taught him long ago.  “We can rest there, heal there, spend decades doing nothing and have nothing to show for it, but we don’t grow out of the easy, soft things.  We grow like weeds, in between rocks and hard places.”

She laughed, and it was almost beautiful.

“You are a very polite Devil.  I think it will be most useful to watch you win.”

“You think I’ll win?”

“This game, yes, you have won, and the rest simply have not realized it yet.  I will return to my homeland after they do, and think how to prepare the board for the next game.”

“You’re going back to China?”

She laughed again, an ugly twin to her earlier laugh.

“Oh, it is considerably farther than that, my Devil.  We will meet again.”

Then she stood, and faster than Matt could track, punched the wind from his lungs.

<^>

Bucky almost caught her, but Matt’s strained breathing rattled wetly and twenty years of looking after Steve kicked in.  Claire was probably not going to enjoy this house call, but it was one he had to make. Before exiting the warehouse with Matt in a fireman’s carry, he reached up and turned his comm on.

“I need a van and a medic,  _ now. _ ”

“On route already,” Jarvis replied.  “Agent Barnes had them dispatched when the police scanner alerted us to the sound of gunshots in your location.”

“How long ago was that?”

“They should be arriving shortly, sir.”

“The cops, or my medic?”

“FREEZE, POLICE!”

“Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Packing: carrying a weapon, usually a gun.  
> Arborist: someone who grows trees.
> 
> Notes:  
> Not all poly families follow the same layouts, the same way not all monogamous relationships follow the same expectations of each member. The Barnes-Lewis-Rogers poly family is a closed triad, a relatively rare layout that works due to a lot of effort and a shared history that makes them most suited for each other. Jemma is just now learning she's poly, but her Life Partner Fitz is strongly monogamous and that's causing her anxiety due to a lack of adequate representation of poly life. In real life, many poly people have a pinnate family structure, each partner having the chance to find whoever will help them live their best life. Some even have relationships with monogamous people, although ethics demand that the poly partner be as honest with the mono partner as they can about their needs and the other people in their life. Feel free to ask me questions if you want to know more.
> 
> Matt's concern is valid, as disabled people being monitored has traditionally been a tool of fascism and genocide, neither of which anyone with a soul wants to see happen. Bucky also has a good point, that they're clearly not using the excessive monitoring to enact systemic oppression, and this building is home to obviously criminal activity. The middle ground here is understanding when the system of checks and balances needs to check you, and actively seeking help to avoid becoming evil. Remember, kids, Don't Be Evil.
> 
> Bucky knows the scars of being blinded by acid thanks to his niece Lava (formerly Little) who was blinded. More on her can be found in Code Chartreuse and related works by ValkyriePhoenix.
> 
> In the canon, Madame Gao's punch was only enough to knock Matt out long enough to escape herself, after which Matt was able to evacuate the burning building and fight Brett outside. Here, however, Matt is not accustomed to low grade pain at all times as he is in canon, and the building is not on fire which Madame Gao is calculating in, so she both punches harder, and he's less able to roll with it. Hence Matt's breathing being concerning to Bucky.
> 
> The fireman's over-shoulder carry was designed to allow one person to lift another, unresponsive person, and carry them to safety out of a burning building. It's not great for someone with lung damage, since it places pressure on the sternum, and firefighter don't use it often any more as it can cause smoke inhalation damage to be worse, but it's what Bucky knows will let him carry an unconscious full grown male on one arm (the metal one is stronger, but the balance is off to carry two-armed).
> 
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> Teaser:
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>  
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> “Slow, Devil, you got hit pretty hard. Easy on the meat suits, remember?”  
> “I’m fine, Death, and the Sergeant is innocent, stop trying to rip his soul out with your mind. You brought me for the morals, remember, and we’re not killing a good cop. Mahoney is a good cop.”


	34. The Things We Leave Behind (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conflicts and face-offs take many forms, and we're not always being stopped by the villain.
> 
> Until we are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love fest! To Beth_Mac, Shadows_of_Shemai, ClockWeasel, Selene_Aduial, hhhellcat, and the two new kudoers.
> 
> We're gonna be using a Minor Character Death tag in this chapter. Sorry guys, Fisk is evil. It's not graphic, but that may be worse for some.

Matt woke to cool hands that smelled like almond oil washing his chest with something that smelled like cinnamon and citrus.  He was on his own sheets, but not on his bed, on something hard and cool. The faint scents of dogs and cats under several layers of vinegar gave him an idea about where he was.

“Clinic?”

“Yeah, Matt.  She got you pretty good,” Karen told him, a smile creeping into her voice, peeking out from the thick sound of earlier tears.  “Bucky brought you here, and Claire came and patched you up. How’s your head?”

“Fine, it doesn’t hurt at all,” Matt told her.  “I don’t think I even hit it.”

“I meant your…” and she waved at the room, her hand moving the chilly air past his face with a gentle motion.  “I was in charge of cleaning. Did I get it all?”

“Mostly,” Matt said, honestly.  “Defunct vet’s office?”

“Shut down after the Devil closed a dog fighting ring back in December.  Must not have been very good vets.” She laughed. “It’s funny, if you know where to look, Hell’s Kitchen is littered with places like this.  Places that were never on the books, that never drew attention, but needed the crime and darkness in this city to survive. They’re dead or dying now, because the Devil shuts down the hands that feed them.”

Matt laughed grimly as he tried sitting up.  Surprisingly, he didn’t feel like hot toasted garbage.  Physically. Karen passed him a shirt.

“Yet another similarity for Fisk to crow on,” Matt joked and Karen laughed, her first real laugh not touched by darkness in a long time.  Matt tilted his head at her. “It wasn’t that funny. More funny strange than funny ha ha.”

“You?  Like Fisk?” she scoffed as he buttoned it up.  “Never. Never ever, Matt.”

“I’m not saying we’re long lost twins, or soulmates,” Matt shrugged.  “More like dark mirrors. I loved and respected my dad to death. Fisk killed his out of hate and fear.  Fisk thinks if he buys and buys and buys, he can push out everyone who’s ever made him feel less than. I’ve lived my entire adult life being underestimated and I love it, but I fight for the people who are and don’t.  Fisk rolls up small businesses and homeowners, people just trying to make the ends meet in the middle, and nobody can afford to live here unless they’re wealthy, like Fisk. I roll up small criminal enterprises, and nobody can stay in illegal business without resources… like Fisk.  I’m crime gentrifying.”

Matt realized she’d gone quiet and still.  She was still so hard to read sometimes.

“Karen?”

“You ever think you overshare a little?”

Matt let out a sigh of air he’d been holding to match her stillness.  An old habit, one learned to avoid the more painful lessons of his past.  His past, that kept sneaking back into his home.

“My teacher, the one who taught me to fight after my eyes… he used to say I’d have to push away everyone I care about, in order to do the job.”

“Sounds like maybe you listened a little better than you thought,” Karen shot back.

“Yeah,” Matt accepted.  “I tried not to. I tried to forget everything, but some things stay with you and they tend to bring a few friends.  I’m alright having kept the punching and running. The making people leave thing… I could do without. I can accept that I’ll always be the Devil that drives sinners to church, it’s a little harder to get the blood out of my soul.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes the world isn’t about you, Matthew Michael Murdock!” Karen snapped.  “And some of us are glad that murdering scum gets to float in the East River instead of good, innocent people like Mrs. Cardenas.  Some of us got blood on our souls and decided to just fucking redecorate around the stain.”

“Karen!” Matt snapped back.  “What the fuck? Where is this from?”

“In the past week, I’ve been scooped, called to work after hours because a client got stabbed, and discovered a new and terrifying empathy for a monster.  In the past month, I’ve been drugged twice, framed for a murder I didn’t commit, kidnapped, attacked twice, threatened, and forced to kill someone. I came here to get away from having been kidnapped and forced to kill.”  She jammed her coat on angrily and pulled open the door with a hard sharp screech. “Forgive me if I’m a little less than concerned you may have punched out a psychopath or two. Woe is you, Murdock, you’re human. Now grow a pair and deal with it like the rest of us.”

The echo of the door rang like church bells around Matt’s head.

Unknowingly, he echoed Bucky’s words from when he was unconscious.

“Well, fuck.”

<^>

_ Earlier… _

“FREEZE, POLICE!”

“Well, fuck.”  Bucky shifted Matt on his shoulders and clicked his tongue to signal Jarvis for silence.  This talk was gonna get nasty real fast if he got distracted.  “Can I put my buddy down before I freeze?”

“Yeah, real slow now,” the officer said.  Bucky stepped to the side of the alley and lowered Matt down gently.  He moaned as he settled, and Bucky felt a knot untie in his chest.

“Rest, Devil, we’ll get you help soon,” he told the other man and pressed a hand to his cheek.  Matt sniffed and sighed, calming. Bucky stood to look at the officer, a young black man looking on with incredulity.  “I’d really like it if I don’t have to hit you.”

“I’d like that too, feel like coming quietly?”

Bucky laughed and shook his head.  “Sorry officer, but too many people have died in your precinct’s custody.  I don’t intend to add my name to that list.”

The guy made a half shrug of acceptance, gun steady.  “It’s Sergeant, and I don’t appreciate the implication that I’m dirty.  You come with me, and so does he. He’s got to answer for killing those cops, for bombing this city.”

“That’s a damn dirty lie and you know it!” Bucky growled.  Matt stirred at his feet and Bucky helped him sit. “Slow, Devil, you got hit pretty hard.  Easy on the meat suits, remember?”

“I’m fine, Death,” Matt snarked back.  “And the Sergeant is innocent, stop trying to rip his soul out with your mind.  You brought me for the morals, remember, and we’re not killing a good cop. Mahoney is a good cop.”

The sergeant stepped forward and Bucky snatched his gun and pulled the clip before popping out the round in the chamber.  The man surged forward at him, trying to regain the gun, but Matt was up and holding him in a strangely tender arm lock before the last bullet hit the street.

“Easy.  Easy on, Sergeant.  We didn’t do what you think we did.  Hoffman and Blake were dirty, working for the man who planted the bombs.  We’re just looking for proof to help even the scales.”

“Proof, what proof?”

“Warehouse behind us?” Bucky asked, joining in.  “Filled with Steel Serpent heroin and possibly a paper trail.  The owner pulled a runner, but we couldn’t follow with his chest caved in and wheezing like an asthmatic with rickets.”

Matt shot him a look, as if to say ‘seriously?’ but Mahoney stilled.  Matt tilted his head and let go. “Your back up is coming.”

Bucky clicked his tongue again.

“Proceed to the north side of the alley,” Jarvis instructed.  “Try not to get arrested, please.”

“I don’t understand,” Mahoney was saying.  Matt reached up and squeezed his neck where it met his left shoulder, and flipped him down onto the ground.

“Sorry,” Matt whispered, “but we’re out of time.  And I’m out of adrenaline.”

Bucky caught him before he could collapse, and ran to the evacuation point.

The sounds of sirens and voices shouting about officers down cut off as he closed the door.

<^>

Skye was sitting on the Urich’s front porch when the car drove up.  Jemma and Doris were at the headquarters talking to some Australian friend of Fitz’s about alternative treatments, and Ben had gone to bed an hour ago.  She, on the other hand, had the itchy, restless feeling that meant inclosed spaces were not her friend right now. Which is how she ended up sitting on a front porch in Hamilton Heights on a February evening, watching an SUV drop off a crime boss.

“Evening, Mr. Fisk,” she said as he approached.  No doubt he’d wanted to break in quietly, maybe make a few threats, but well, life didn’t always go as planned, did it?

“Agent Barnes.”  He stopped on the steps.  “Protecting reporters now, too?”

“Freedom of the press is important,” Skye said blandly.  “Have a seat, Mr. Fisk.”

Fisk lowered himself carefully onto the section of stone railing she offered, and Skye buried a smirk as his knuckles whitened.  Even the Kingpin can be trapped by social niceties. “I really did come here to have a conversation with Mr. Urich,” he explained.

“Ben’s asleep,” Skye told him.  “I’m stuck on door duty until I can hand it off to someone else and go get sleep myself.  I could pass him a message, if you like.”

Fisk shifted, the leather of his shoes creaking.  Skye thought, and decided to give him a break.

“Mr. Fisk, I want to apologize.”  He snapped his eyes up and she smiled at him.  “You’ve been hit very hard by personal losses recently, and I’m afraid I’m not going to make your life any easier.  Nobody deserves to have so much attacked all at once, but once the threads begin to unravel on a web of lies, the process cannot be slowed.”

“You were behind it?” His voice was eerily calm, especially for someone with reported outbursts of violent temper.

“Not all of it,” Skye assured him.  “Vanessa was a total shock to us too.  I’m genuinely very glad we were there with Jemma and could save her.  Cyanide is… not something  _ we _ ever use.”

“So the man in the mask isn’t one of yours.”

“I never said that,” Skye said tightly.  He met her eyes and she saw understanding.  He knew she cared about Matt, even if he didn’t know his name or the relation.  “But for that at least, he isn’t guilty.”

“And Wesley?”

“Nasty business, kidnapping,” Skye said through her teeth.  “Dangerous for all parties, especially when the kidnapper doesn’t do basic research on the abilities of his victim.”

Fisk growled and Skye leveled a Look at him, one that had gotten even the Harrow Twins to sit still.

“I thought your masked dog didn’t kill,” Fisk sneered.  “Something about… being better than me.”

“He doesn’t.   _ His _ monster is carefully leashed, and we’ve been keeping an eye on it, just in case.  We didn’t know.... No, that’s a lie.” Skye hated what she was about to say, but it was the truth, and Wilson Fisk deserved that much before they brought the hammer down hard.  “We fucked up. We knew enough we should have been watching for the dam to break, and we didn’t, and when the threats were made and the chips were on the table, your friend paid the price.  That’s on us, and for that, I’m very sorry.”

“Hmm.”  Fisk nodded.  “Except there’s one thing you can’t fix with your apologies.  Mr. Urich brought my mother into this. My  _ mother _ .”

“That must be upsetting,” Skye said frostily, “but you have to understand, I’m not emotionally invested in that situation.  I was raised in an orphanage, Mr. Fisk. I never knew my parents, only now my dad’s back and he’s a serial killer and it’s this big thing, and to be honest, I just do not have the energy to give two shits about  _ your _ parents.  Neither one has  _ flayed _ anyone recently, and that’s my new bar for family drama.  I have a job to do here that, sadly for you, I am very good at.  I’m here to catch criminals. You have broken the law, Mr. Fisk, and I’m here to catch you.  I will look at every angle I have to in order to do that, and that is not going to feel good while I do it.  If I cared about how criminals felt about being caught, I’d be pretty shit at my job. I try not to cross ethical lines because **I** want to be a good person, not because I care you have anger issues and privacy issues and possible neuroses.”

“How dare you…”

“No.”  She stood up and let the hand that had been holding her ICER out of the way drop down in front of her where he could see it.  “Mr. Fisk, you’re leaving now. I’ve been polite, I’ve been patient, and now I’ve had enough. Tonight nobody dies, and you should take that as the win it really is.  Go home, Mr. Fisk. Go back to Vanessa or to your penthouse suite. Drink up the rest of this while you can.”

“You think you can threaten me?”  He snorted and stood, easily towering over her.

“No, Mr. Fisk, I think you’re not anywhere near ready to face trial.” Skye smiled a shark’s grin at him, watching the calculations run behind his cold black pits of eyes.  “So far, my evidence is patchy and circumstantial, or you’d be in handcuffs. Commit a crime in front of me, or better yet, on my own person, _please_. I’d love to cut this short so I can be somewhere tropical for Valentines Day.”

Fisk grunted and nodded, allowing her the win as he backed down off the porch.  Satisfied, Skye stepped inside and double checked the two new deadbolts on Ben’s door.  Tonight, nobody dies.

<^>

Ethel Day had been neighbors to the Urichs since they were newlyweds moving into 461 and she was a new divorcee fighting for ownership of 453.  They’d helped her through some rough times, and she liked to think she’d helped them. Certainly, she was going to write down the licence plate number of the car that dropped a man off in front of their house in the unholy hours of the night, then circled the block while the man loitered on their porch.  That friend of theirs ran him off all right, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. She neatened her blinds and took her hearing aids out in preparation for bed, content she’d done the right thing.

Which meant she didn’t hear her back door be forced open. Nor did she hear the footfalls of the man who came into her bedroom, although as he dug his fingers into her scalp and jaw, she could pick up a few snatches of his incoherent growls through the rocking bass vibrations.  Her panicked mind resolved to warn Ben.

She never got the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Vet's office: Veterinarian's office, clinic for pets.  
> Chips were on the table: a metaphor from gambling, when bets are all made and cards are shown, revealing a winner.  
> Flayed: skinned, as in to remove skin.
> 
> Notes:  
> Cinnamon oil is an especially powerful antiseptic, and citrus oils aren't much worse. An ancient recipe for antiseptic wash, thieve's oil (used by grave robbers to prevent catching illness from the dead), used cinnamon bark, lemon oil, and eucalyptus. However, Claire's homemade antiseptic wash that Karen uses is a mix of cinnamon oil, lemon oil, and lime oil, since eucalyptus isn't actually all that strong antiseptically and smells to high heaven, which is what she wants to avoid for Matt.
> 
> Karen is a complicated character, in canon but especially here, since she started her super-adjacent life by being forced into mad science by Hydra. She's gotten pretty comfortable with shades of grey, which is good, but she's also gotten a bit too comfortable with perma-death as an option, which is not. Matt is still working on being okay with moral ambiguity, which she interprets as a condemnation of her own viewpoint, mainly because she knows on some level that "kill them all and let Death sort it out" isn't actually a good person thing to think, and she feels guilty. I know Karen's been a bit rough lately, but please bear with her, she's dealing with a lot of PTSD and probably needs therapy.
> 
> Matt and Bucky like to play with their nicknames, Death and Devil. It's a bit of humor for them, but please take a second to replay that scene from Brett's POV, especially given the street mythos surrounding Matt's "unnatural" skills. It's really funny.
> 
> Rickets is technically a bone disorder that causes twisting and deformity in children due to vitamin D deficiency, but adult survivors of rickets tend to have bow legs, abnormal spinal curvatures, especially concave or convex chests, and stunted growth. (Personal theory, Steve Rogers survived a bout of rickets that contributed to his sunken chest, scoliosis, and general smallness.) Rickets dramatically increases the risk of pneumonia, which combined with the risk of concave chest means breathing with rickets is rougher than normal. It is however, an old-fashioned sort of disease, as most mothers and pregnant women these days sort of know what a vitamin is and try to get them for their kids. Bucky shows his age in strange ways.
> 
> Hamilton Heights is a neighborhood in North Manhattan, traditionally home to a substantial black professional demographic. The residential options there lean towards brownstones and row houses of a nicer quality, which reflects what we see in the show. If you go by Google Street View, the home I selected for Ben and Doris looks pretty nice, including a little pocket space beside the stairs up, which serves as a "front porch" area. (As a side note, Ethel lives on the corner of that row of brownstones and has a view of two streets, hence her knowledge of Fisk's car circling when Skye doesn't see it.)
> 
> Cyanide is a common tool of Hydra, in the form of suicide pills, hence Skye's insistence that "we" don't use cyanide.
> 
> Skye is, for a given value, a federal agent. Assaulting her is a fast ticket to a really secure cell, and both she and Fisk know it. Fisk however, is still a temperamental and murderous bastard and was always going to kill someone on this little trip. I saved Ben, but sadly, his neighbor has passed from this literary world. RIP Ethel Day.
> 
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> Teaser:
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>  
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> "I have a bored mad scientist who's been banned from lab work. We were mainly late because there’s about ten acres of forest in the paperwork around digging into his financials.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things break before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Fest! To Shadows_of_Shemai, Beth_Mac, hhhellcat, and the new kudo-er.

“She was an innocent!” Matt snarled, using his anger to fuel a punch to the padded mitt on his sister’s hand.  “She just happened to be Ben’s neighbor.”

“So what?” his sister challenged, aiming a kick he whirled away from.  “Fisk doesn’t care who he hurts, we knew that. If he respected the rules of engagement, Trip wouldn’t be posing as Claire’s boyfriend right now.  You may think this is a war for the soul of Hell’s Kitchen, but clearly he can and will commit war crimes.”

“I don’t care about him,” Matt growled, ducking under a second kick to pop up into her close zone.  “I care about me, selfish as that is. I should have stopped what was happening.”

“And what am I, chopped liver?” Skye shot back, locking his arm in a grapple so light he almost couldn’t trace it, but firm enough he could wear himself out struggling.  “Was I supposed to stop it?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Matt returned, breathing deep to focus on where her arms lay on his shoulder and back.  “Fisk was careful, stealthy, you couldn’t have known he was next door. He didn’t even use a gun. You never could have heard him.”

“I’m an agent of the law, Matt.  I’m literally paid to stop bad guys,” she said, grunting as he twisted in her arms to throw her to Fogwell’s mat.  “He killed someone not fifty feet from me, Matt. If you want to talk criminal negligence, start with me.”

“Skye, don’t do this to yourself,” he said, moving to kneel beside her as her voice hitched from the floor.  Then, the next thing he knew, he was laying on his back, a cool cloth on his eyes and his sister sitting on the ropes with a bottle of water.

“Never take your focus off the fight, Murdock,” Agent May said from the corner.  “That kind of thing gets agents killed in the field.”

“What, compassion?” he fired back, but there was no heat to it.  His head hurt too much.

May’s heart sped up, thrumming loud and angry.

“Forget I said anything,” Matt mumbled, rolling up and leaning on the ropes besides Skye.  She passed him his own bottle, and he sniffed it before drinking. May hadn’t tried to drug him _yet_ , but she seemed to still think he was a baby who needed coddling.  She’d had him running exercises he’d been doing before he could shave, repeatedly, for the past week, with frequent breaks and monitoring how he was eating.  The mothering was frustrating, and he almost wished she’d just get to the real work, no matter how hard SHIELD training was. The testing process was tedious.

“How’s training going?” Agent Coulson asked, walking in from the back.  Fortunately, Saturdays were Max’s light days, and they’d been able to book the whole gym for May to test Matt’s skills in.

“Good,” May said.  “His skills are sharp, his instincts can be worked with.  I can’t clear him for firearms, but the Barton Provisions allow for alternate weaponry for specialists.  I haven’t done a formal test of his level, but I’m recommending yantok or nunchaku. He gravitates to stick forms in the improvised weapon tests.”

“Not staff?” Coulson asked, seeming surprised, although his heart remained quiet and steady.

“No.”  Matt ducked his head to hide a grin at May’s tone.  That, he knew. The dry denial of a teacher didn’t set his hackles up like the softer voice of the nanny he’d heard too often lately.  “He navigates this city with parkour, Phil, get a grip. He needs something small, portable, preferably something he can hide in his briefcase.  Thank God he’s a lawyer or I’d have to train him in knives and nobody wants that.”

“Seconded!” Matt called.  “Sharp objects and the blind do not get along in a fight.  I can’t accidentally cut someone’s throat with a blunt object, mine or other people’s.”

“So is he ready?” Phil asked, his tone clearly different from Coulson as Skye slipped the ropes and went to join them.  Matt could never thank the man enough for being there when Skye needed a family. Could never express the mess of feelings fathers and father figures brought up for him, but he was glad in unnameable ways that Skye had Phil Coulson.

May hummed, then shifted.  Matt still couldn’t read her, even if he didn’t tend to lose her if she stood too still anymore.  “Yeah, he’s ready.”

Matt felt his face split into a grin as Skye fist-pumped and Coulson trotted over to hand him a leather wallet containing his probationary badge.

Wait.

“This isn’t a probationary badge.”

“It’s an Agent Liaison badge,” Phil said, a smile under his words.  “You wanted to keep your firm, right? I can redo the paperwork if I misunderstood and you’d prefer a full time career with SHIELD-”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Matt interrupted him.  “This is for a Level 5 Clearance Agent Liaison. I thought I was going to be a probationary junior agent.  Like at that Academy Jemma and Fitz went to. I’ve been cramming for and taking entrance exams since Monday, I know the difference between what you give actual agents and what you’d give me.”

Coulson was quiet for a long moment.  May sighed. “Murdock, we take kids as young as sixteen into the academy.  You really think I’d ride their asses as hard as I’ve ridden yours this week?  Your entrance exams were for SHIELD. The agency. We were clearing you for duty.  I’m hard, but I’m not going to push a child like I push an adult.”

Matt blinked.  “Then what was the Mama May routine for?!”

May choked and Skye fell over laughing.  Phil did his best to hide chuckles under a cough, but cleared his throat and squeaked out the word ‘clarify’ before May could really get growling.

Matt explained.  He’d learned to do most of the things May’d tested him on at age nine.  Stick hadn’t tolerated laziness in his student, nor whining, nor weakness.  He’d done much harder things on less rest, with less food, less water. He’d shaped up under Stick’s unforgiving words and less forgiving fists, being treated like was made of tissue paper left him the distinct impression May was going easy on him.

May ground her teeth together as he finished.  “I’m going to the range,” she grit out. “Explain this, I don’t want to have to risk it.”

As she stomped out, Skye tugged at Matt’s pants leg, and he slipped down and out of the ring for her to hug him, wordlessly offering support.  Phil guided them to the cool-down benches and Matt worked as he listened.

<^>

Phil had no idea what to say as his favorite agent’s brother spelled out years of child abuse normalized as training.  He knew he’d have to, May’s soft spot for kids had only gone underground since Bahrain, not gone away. Skye, bless her, wasn’t in any better place to help.  It was clear she’d never known the extent of what Stick had done to her brother.

“Matt, what you went through under that… man,” Phil said as he watched Murdock stretch out, “was not training.  Not the kind of training civilized people give. It was indoctrination.”

“I know that,” Matt said, rolling his shoulders instead of his eyes.  “Everything about his stupid war with the Hand, never giving me all the information, it’s classic brainwashing.  I did a paper on the legal ramifications of brainwashing and will subversion in cult victims and their ability to stand trial or testify.  He still taught me to fight.”

“No, that’s not what I…” Phil broke off.  “Matt, I served in Colombia for a year. Back before I was assigned as a handler.  We occasionally did runs on the local guerilla camps to pull child soldiers out before they could be sent to their deaths.  The littlest ones, eight or nine, they were easy to extract, they could be calmed with basic necessities, food, water, blankets.  Over fifteen they got the rebellious streak and would come because we weren’t their generals. The ones ten to fifteen, though, they were the toughest.  They thought their generals cared about them, wanted the best for them. That they were being trained for some good cause. That they were _soldiers_ , damnit.  Boys ten or eleven years old, informed me that as enemy combatants who were taken captive, they were entitled to one meal a day.  By the way, prisoners of war are afforded three meals and at least eight cups of water, more in places that make that necessary for survival.  They had such skewed images of what the world owed them, that we could barely get through to them.”

Matt had gone still, and Phil fought with his desire to reach out like he would with Skye.

“I’m saying, no matter what war you think you’re fighting, you don’t starve people or drug them to test their ability.  You test them when they’re functional enough to survive the tests, then extrapolate how well they’d do under the extreme duress of a real threat.”

“Yeah, hurting kids, bad,” Matt agreed.  “I get it. Stick abused me. I know that, I was a child and I didn’t deserve what he did.  But I survived it, and now I just want to be treated like any other fighter, any other agent.”

“Matt, what he’s saying is Stick’s training would be cruel even for an adult,” Skye said around clear pain.  “ _Marines_ don’t run their duress tests on a three day sleep deficit and starvation rations, and they’ve got some of the toughest standards in modern history.  May is one of the most respected combat agents we have at SHIELD and she pushed you just as hard as she pushed me before I got my badge. I think that’s why she got offended you thought she was going easy on you.  May doesn’t discriminate, she kicks ass regardless of whose ass it is needs kicking. The only question is does she leave you able to get back up again after, and we don’t tend to employ the dead.”

Phil felt the punch to the gut as though it was him Skye had misread.  He couldn’t tell them, couldn’t let her know how wrong she was. May would never forgive him.  So he smiled blandly and watched his favorite agent talk her brother off a ledge as he unpacked decades old torture and peeled up the rationalization scars it had left in his young mind’s fight to survive.

<^>

The old theater building echoed.  Maybe it was spending time with Matt, but Skye felt like her every footstep was a ringing bell in the dark.  Of course, that didn’t matter, what mattered was that Detective Hoffman had disappeared off their radar a few weeks ago, and Blake had firmly refused to testify if his partner wasn’t found.  For dirty cops, they were a surprisingly loyal pair.

She rounded the corner and drew her ICER up, shooting a guard.  Another shot, louder and followed by the wet thud of live ammo, sounded a second later.  She took a breath, blew it out, and fired again, sweeping the room. As the last machine-gun carrying thug dropped to the floor she turned to the uniformed officers who’d also been shooting.

“Freeze, Police!” they shouted, pulling their guns up and toward her.

“ _You_ freeze, SHIELD,” she shot back.  She could hear Trip on the balcony calling the space clear, and May in a back hallway responding.  The cops in front of her looked deeply confused and conflicted. “Gentlemen, I’d really prefer not to get shot again, can we both lower our weapons and compare credentials?”

One of the cops spooked and Skye barely rolled under his line of fire in time.  She grimaced as she dropped him from a partially covered slide across the floor.  The flashy stuff impressed people, but it hurt the pride May had instilled in her.

“Okay, that didn’t work, but the other option is I shoot you all and sort it out later.  Sorry guys,” she laughed, hopping over a tipped desk to cover herself while she laid down ICER fire.  When the sounds stopped, she went to check Hoffman. “You okay dude?”

“I was kidnapped,” he said dryly.  “Where were you?”

“Lealand Owlsley is a very good accountant,” Skye deadpanned.  “But he’s not quite as smart as he thinks he is. And I have a bored mad scientist who's been banned from lab work. We were mainly late because there’s about ten acres of forest in the paperwork around digging into his financials”

Hoffman shrugged, but didn’t fight her too hard.  Skye felt the small surge of happiness that accompanied every big win.  With Hoffman back, Blake would talk. With Blake talking, Fisk’s empire was going to find itself in a death spiral he couldn’t escape.

<^>

The stings were a thing of beauty, Brett decided.  Perfectly timed, perfectly targeted. Drug operations shut down within minutes of each other, enforcers snagged up before they could receive orders, dens of various forms of iniquity silenced in a single decisive move.  Not just the criminal world, either. Departments were cleaned out, and he couldn’t honestly say he was surprised by half of them. What surprised him was the one laughingstock department in the city, over in Brooklyn, was the only one not to lose half its detectives.  Although maybe even Fisk had standards.

There wasn't much to do after the stings, though.  All the crime in the city came to a screeching halt while the various lowlifes who got missed tried to figure out which way was up.  It was nice, to get a break, Brett decided.  He was leaning on a wall in the 15th’s bullpen, enjoying the quiet, when Nelson showed up, a frown on his face and a tablet showing the news in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Rules of engagement: rules governing how military force is used. ROE are individual to countries or armies, not everyone has them or uses the same ones, contrast to war crimes, which are defined and tried by an international court.  
> The Barton Provisions: amendments made to SHIELD's ROE to accept nonstandard weapons (like Clint Barton's bow) in place of firearms.  
> Yantok: a type of wooden or rattan stick used in the Filipino martial art Eskrima or Arnis. Matt's billy clubs are close to them in terms of how he uses them.  
> Nunchaku: popularly called nunchucks, a traditional Okinawan martial arts weapon consisting of two sticks connected at one end by a short chain or rope.  
> Stings: operations to bring down a group of criminals.
> 
> Notes:  
> May gets hit in the memories pretty hard during this scene, but wasn't willing to be a POV, so here's the basic rundown on what she's reacting to. In Bahrain, she fought a psychopathic Inhuman child who manipulated others into attacking for her. Her compassion became a liability and she had to turn it off and kill a child to save lives. May herself is a fantastically nurturing person if not coping with trauma, so it left a large scar and all issues to do with child abuse or neglect and also destroyed her belief in her own ability to be a mom, which was particularly sad as she had planned to have children with her husband Andrew right before going on that mission.
> 
> Stick being a dick really fucked up Matt's perceptions of normal training, and we're now seeing the fallout. He's spent a couple months doing hard training and the past week being tested, and he doesn't see that because May hasn't abused him yet. That can happen to abuse survivors, the skewing of your personal normal. If you've survived abuse, please seek therapeutic assistance to help you re-find the right normals.
> 
> Child soldiers face a unique combination of the effects of abuse, brainwashing, and PTSD. Colombia in particular has a bad history involving children in military operations, especially in the rebel and resistance forces. In 1998 a Human Rights Watch press release indicated that 30 percent of some guerrilla units were made up of children and up to 85 percent of some of the militias. Matt was never quite made into a child soldier because he wouldn't give up his heart and Stick had no use for him as a child, only as a soldier. However, he's still got some of the warped mental patterns from the attempt to make him a child soldier.
> 
> In normal face-offs with feds and SHIELD, cops may not enjoy ceding jurisdiction, but they do. These cops however were sent by Fisk to perform a hit, not by the precinct to perform a rescue, and they can't do that with a federal witness.
> 
> The mad scientist is Karen, her background being the sciences.
> 
> Yes, that's a B99 cameo. Rosa got to punch their only dirty cop in the face, Gina recorded it and put it on Instagram, and Terry may or may not have ignored that because Fisk was the cause of the closure of Terry's favorite Farmer's Market. Holt blames Wunch for all of it and is saddened she wasn't dirty.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> “You really think this will change anything? That one man in a silly costume can do anything alone? That you can save this city?”  
> “I think I’ve told you before that I’m not alone.”


	36. Daredevil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daredevil defends his city. And in his city, he's never alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! We're at the end of the Daredevil Season One Arc! Finally! Whew, guys, I don't mind telling you I was a little bit worried I wouldn't ever get here, but here we are and I'm so happy. While I will be continuing and putting the rest of the adventures of the Kitchen Crew and the Agents in this story, I am going to take a bit of a break here and try to focus on Bodies in Space (if Hank Pym will just work with me, grr, but that's a complaint for another day). I'm happy to take suggestions for arcs from Agents of SHIELD you want to see, but the primary focus here is going to be on New York and the Netflix shows. The exception being Skye's Inhumans arc, which we'll definitely see simply because it's awesome.
> 
> Anyway, that's the muse update, and as always, love to my comment-squad, hhhellcat, Beth_Mac, Shadows_of_Shemai, and ClockWeasel.

Matt hid a grim smile as Melvin opened the case with an explanation of the different strengths of the red and black parts of the new armor.  It was kind of him, even if it was also useless. Melvin didn’t know Matt was blind. And as he traced the mask with his fingertips, he knew the genius was on the same page, understanding what Matt really needed.

“Thank you Melvin, it’s wonderful.”

“Betsy…” Melvin trailed off.  “She’ll be safe now, from Mr. Fisk?”

“I made a promise, I intend to keep it.”

Melvin snorted.  “You didn’t make a promise.  Miss Skye stopped you before you could make a promise you couldn’t know you could keep.  Making promises you don’t know you can keep is a bad habit to get into.”

Matt nodded at that.  “Skye’s good at keeping me from getting into too many bad habits.  But I did make a promise, just not that one. I’m going to stop Fisk.  One way or another, I’m going to stop him. Because he’s gone too far already.”

“Good.  Go do that.”  Melvin closed the trunk and pushed it towards Matt.

On the rooftops of his city, Matt listened for familiar voices, for specific terms, for anything that could lead him to his quarry.  Skye and her people were running up roadblocks on all land exits from the island. The Russian Mob, this time led by Natasha and her sisters, were piloting water taxis and other small craft in patterns to prevent a waterborne exit.  Bucky had left their celebration dinner calling the Tower to organize a full shutdown of air traffic.

Fisk was trapped, he just didn’t realize it yet, and it was up to Matt to let him know.

“Vanessa, if I’m not by your side in twenty minutes, I want you to leave.”  Matt jerked at the sound of Fisk’s voice, and dashed in the direction of the sound.  He didn’t like having to listen to the vile creature’s tenderness with his lover, but it was his only guide to catch Fisk.  “If I’m not there by that time, there isn’t anything you can do to stop that from happening. But it won’t be the end, Vanessa.  It’s just an inconvenience. Nothing will keep us apart.”

Matt shook his head and doubled his speed towards the underpass he could tell they’d go through.  He was too high up, he needed a safe way down to Fisk’s level. Good thing Melvin had included the sticks.  He locked them together into one long stave, then hurled it like a javelin at the truck’s windshield, startling the driver who overcompensated into a roll.  From there, it was an easy drop onto the truck’s side as Fisk scrambled out of the back.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Matt called to him and slid down the edge of the cab, grabbing his sticks.  “That night on the radio. You’re right, we’re very similar, you and I. We’re born from pain and loss. We’re violent creatures doing our best to leash the beasts inside us.  We’re willing to do things other people aren’t, suffer what other people won’t, if it saves the people we care about, the things we love.”

Fisk growled at him and Matt uncoupled the clubs.  He gave them an experimental twirl and smiled.

“ _ That’s _ where the difference is.  I love this city.”

“I wanted to make this city something better than it was,” Fisk howled.  “Something beautiful. You took that away from me, like you took everything.”

“You wanted to make this city fit a fantasy,” Matt snapped back.  “A fairytale molded in your image. That’s not love, it’s arrogance.  Loving the city means loving the people, even when they make bad choices.  It means feeding the people, not starving them, it means giving people a chance to be their best selves, not tempting them to evil out of desperation.  So you’re damn right I took that from you, you were killing my city.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Fisk screamed, and Matt set his shoulders, tucking the sticks away.

“Take your shot.”

The fight was brutal, but short.  Fisk was strong, but sloppy, relying on overwhelming attacks and brute force.  Matt was weaker, but his speed helped him dodge the worst of Fisk’s hits, and his strikes were precise and targeted.  Fisk’s endurance kept him up longer than Matt had expected, but he had no sense for strategy and was easy to trick into expending energy uselessly against Matt’s armor.  He also talked, which was a fatal flaw. Especially when he talked smack about New York.

“This is my city, my family,” Matt growled from the ground, twisting Fisk’s legs in his own and bringing the larger man down hard. Fisk laughed from his new place just a few feet from where he’d tried to smear Matt into the pavement.

“You really think this will change anything?  That one man in a silly costume can do anything alone?  That you can save this city?”

“I think I’ve told you before,” Matt said, standing, careful of the bruise on his ribs and the split in his lip, “that I’m not alone.”

Mahoney drove up and got out of his squad car.

“Sergeant, this man was a fugitive from the law,” Matt called.  “I’ve stopped him. We good?”

Brett swore softly.  “It’s you.”

“You’re a good cop, I don’t want you thinking I’m the bad guy.  I’d like us to be on the same side. Your move, Sergeant.” Mahoney turned on his radio and reported Fisk’s location.  Then he turned it off. “Thank you.”

“So what do I call you when I file my report?” Brett asked as he handcuffed Fisk.  “The guys are gonna laugh me out of the precinct if I say  _ the Devil  _ caught Fisk.  No offence.”

“None taken,” Matt said with a smile.  He thought of the playful teasing of his sister, the excited questions of his son, the awed tone of Foggy’s voice as he dared Matt to do something with his powers.  He thought of Ben and his despair with Ellison’s cheesy, horrible ideas for superhero names. “You can call me Daredevil.”

“You gonna jump Snake River Canyon on your rocket cycle?” Mahoney snorted, but he was looking away, so Matt slipped up the fire escape and over the roof.  Exits were the most uncomfortable part of this job.

Besides, the drama was too tempting.

<^>

“Daredevil?” Ben asked, putting a paper down on Karen’s desk.  “Seriously?”

“Give up,” Skye said, moving past him as she packed away her ladder.  The new paint was a calm sepia color, warm from a hint of red added to the neutral accidentally.  She’d been so happy to find enough cans of the same color in the “oops paint” section of the hardware store she hadn’t thought about how it would go with the curtains, but strangely the warm tan went well with the light blue.  “The only thing bigger than Matt’s sense of guilt is his sense of drama. You’ll never convince him it’s lame now that it’s hit the papers.”

“I had to type this you know,” Ben sighed, and Skye laughed.  “I’m probably going to have to type this again. Ellison thinks I should take the superpower beat, since my instincts were better than his on this one.”

“We’re happy to have you,” Natasha said, adjusting the placement of coffee cups on the new hardwood shelves over the sink.  “You tend to report fairly, and you’re not hung up on my wardrobe or Mama’s diet. You’ve also never once published anything bad about her husbands, or implying the fact that’s a plural is bad.”

“I was a hippy, once upon a time,” Ben defended.  “Your parents haven’t done much that’s all that new.”

“You keep thinking that, Ben,” Bucky snorted as he stepped inside.  Then he ruffled his sister’s hair and kissed his daughter’s cheek. “I took the last of the trash out.  What’s next?”

“How’s it smell?” Skye asked her oldest brother.  He might not have Matt’s senses, but the super soldier serum was better than nothing.

“Perfectly clean, not too chemical, and I think Matt will like the new cleaning fluid Maya and Simmons made,” Bucky listed.  “How far out is he?”

“Five minutes,” Natasha reported, looking at her phone.  “Edge of his range. Time to be quiet.”

Five minutes later, Matt stepped off the elevator to his family firmly saying “Surprise!”  Ben was a little louder than necessary, but Foggy’s smile as they walked in erased any worry Skye might have had.

“This place looks amazing,” Foggy told her, then turned to describe things to Matt.

“Wow, you guys really put a lot of effort into this,” Karen said, looking at the new furniture and the gleaming burnished color on the walls.  “What’s all this for?”

“We have a present,” Natasha said, bouncing on her toes beside Skye.  Her face showed more of her emotions than usual, glee particularly as she pulled out the wrapped book.  Karen passed the package to Matt, who felt the heavily embossed wrapping paper with a soft grin before deftly peeling it off.  Foggy leaned over and read the title aloud as Matt felt the Braille lettering with a soft hand.

“Nelson, Murdock, and Page: A Hero Scrapbook.”

“It’s tradition,” Skye explained.  “Darcy and Jarvis made them for all the Avengers.  Bucky and I helped with this one. Well, Bucky helped.  I’m not artistic.”

“You tracked down our ephemera,” Bucky reminded her.  “We wouldn’t have had enough pictures or articles to do it justice without your help.”

“This is a big book,” Karen said, sort of awed as she looked at the spread on the Union Allied case.

“We’re not in the business of underestimating people,” Natasha told her, flipping forward to show her the page for recruiting Ben.  The top was decorated in letter block stickers and read ‘My First Ally’ over a line of washi tape featuring birds. “You’ll fill it up together.”

“You people are crazy,” Foggy said with a laugh.  “I think I like it!”

An alarm rang on Skye’s phone and she checked it.  “Okay, Matt, Thomas is ready to be picked up from the Tower, and today was his first day of play therapy with Sam.  You coming too, or would you rather be on takeout duty?”

“Text me if he wants pizza or Chinese,” Matt said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.  “I’ll go by the bodega for guava juice first, so you have time.”

Skye smiled.  Her family was safe, happy, and growing.  Life was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Oops paint: paint that was mixed wrong or otherwise unwanted and returned to the store, it's much cheaper than new paint.  
> Ephemera: the _stuff_ that goes in a scrapbook, usually things like ticket stubs or newspaper clippings. This one also has things like evidence bags and non-disclosure forms.  
> [Letter block stickers](https://i5.walmartimages.com/asr/7a5c575e-6cab-4923-bc20-babdd868c0ef_1.56b57ec5aa9b9f9ea71c1582c6666b64.jpeg?odnHeight=450&odnWidth=450&odnBg=FFFFFF): stickers that look like children's blocks, often used in baby scrapbooks.  
>  Washi tape: a decorative paper tape used in crafts.  
> Bodega: a small corner store with commonly needed items, like food.
> 
> Notes:  
> Fisk's claim to love the city always felt to me like the claim of an abuser to love his/her victim. He doesn't actually love it, he wants it to be "his" and when it isn't, he gets irrationally angry and beats the crap out of it. Matt, conversely, gets the crap beaten out of himself in defense of the city, because he actually does love it. He hates the choices some people make, but much like you can think your pothead cousin has fucked up and still love them, Matt recognizes that the city is still worth defending even when it's being a bonehead. Which is why, even when his actual family is all off occupied, Matt is never alone.
> 
> In the canon, Foggy is the one who remarks that "Daredevil" sounds like someone going to do a crazy motorcycle trick. However, he and Brett grew up together, so I'm allowing as they have a similar sense of humor.
> 
> Ben means polyamory when he says it's nothing new. Bucky is thinking of the super-secret details of their War experience and all the shit Darcy did that was totally new, even for her family.
> 
> Matt's senses mean surprise parties take a slightly different path, hence saying surprise while he's down the hall, instead of shouting it as he comes in the door.
> 
> Hero Scrapbooks are a tradition started by Darcy and Jarvis after the events of Iron Man 3. It serves as both a memento and a coping tool for the family's less front-line fighters who suffer from not being able to get as involved as they wanted.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> No teaser, as the next thing is just an interlude that has no direct impact on plot.


End file.
